A is for Anesthesia
by Thesaurusgirl
Summary: A simple trip to the hospital can become complicated very quickly. Yes I know I'm reposting, but I screwed up royally and accidentally deleted a bunch of stuff. Didn't know what else to do. A computer genius I aint'
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. This story is not part of any summer alphabet challenge I just thought it was a good title. Since I am far too lazy to check the almost 3000 Numb3rs fanfiction titles, I fervently hope this one has not been used. In the event it has, I have already taken the precaution of lashing myself twenty times with a soggy, nasty noodle. Also, I took a few literary liberties with Colby's medical condition. Those of you who've been there will know what I mean. Anyway, here goes.**

A Is For Anesthesia

Chapter 1

BUZZZZZZZZ!!!!! Colby's alarm clock sounded with a vengeance. "GET UP!! NOW!!! MOVE IT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT! I SAID MOOOOVVEEE!!!" the device seemed to be screaming, drill sergeant loud.

Granger groaned and rolled over, pulling a second down-filled pillow over his head in an unusual attempt to evade the cantankerous clamor for attention. It was a miserable failure. Not only was he unable to escape the increasingly shrill demand that he cease to loll about in bed, but now his new neighbor, an IT specialist who worked nights, was pounding angrily on the wall. With surly resignation, Colby snaked a muscular arm out from under the blankets and bashed at the blasted thing, silencing it at last.

He normally wasn't so unforgiving of the alarm clock, which after all, was only doing its job, but today was different. Right off the bat he knew this was not going to be one of his better days. For one thing, after venting his frustration at having a great dream (one involving jalapeno sauce covered barbequed spare ribs, his beautiful girlfriend Kerri, a '67 Mustang and not a stitch of clothing between them) ruined, he tripped getting out of bed. Only to be expected. Upon finally reaching his apartment the night before, so tired it bordered on catatonic, serious concentration was needed to get the door unlocked and himself inside. Once he'd made it that far, however, he could hear his bed calling to him. No joke, it actually spoke, something Colby never knew before that it was capable of.

"Come to me" it purred seductively. "Let me wrap you in my padded embrace. Crawl into my waiting, comfort foam enhanced, Egyptian cotton sheet and blanket covered length and be glad. I welcome you, weary one, I await you, come to me" Amazingly enough, Granger heard it say all of this as he was stumbling in the general direction of his bedroom, removing shoes, socks and outerwear as he went. By the time he achieved sufficient proximity to the still bewitchingly murmuring bed to fall into it, he was wearing only a pair of boxers. His pants, last to go, ended in up in a crumpled heap on the floor next to him. Consequently, the ill-treated jeans were in a perfect position to exact their revenge by ensuring a face first meeting with the floor, and rug burn, the next morning.

Heaving himself off the floor with a grunt, Colby shuffled to the bathroom, took care of necessary business, washed his hands and brushed his teeth. This latter activity was definitely needed. Last night's deli sandwich dinner, wolfed down at his desk, qualified as more than decent, but its aftereffects, combined with morning breath, left the inside of his mouth tasting (and probably smelling) he reflected, like a freshly opened grave. His haggard visage and bloodshot eyes, he concluded, gave new meaning to the term "green-eyed monster."

Three solid weeks of work on the latest case, complete with stakeouts, sleepless nights, (including the last seventy-two hours minus a three hour nap) and a harrowing shootout within the confines of a pitch-black warehouse helped nab the bad guys. One in particular, thinking that his outweighing Granger by a good fifty pounds meant the FBI agent was going to be easy to take hand to hand gave the affronted Colby an added incentive. The bust also generated enough paperwork to obliterate an entire old growth forest. After mercilessly extracting a promise from all of them that they would complete the balance of their paper pushing the following day, Don Eppes had allowed his team to go home to sleep. Pass out really, but the term "sleep" was close enough. Grabbing a blissful six hours, Colby then dressed for the morning jog, and strangling a wheedling desire for more rest, headed out for his run time.

He'd almost passed on the daily ritual. Besides a lingering feeling of exhaustion, his stomach was killing him. Funny, the lean roast beef on rye had seemed a good idea at the time, but now… He sucked in a deep breath and endured until he'd logged his normal five miles. Back in his apartment, showered and dressed, he discovered his coffee maker had come to the conclusion that today was a good day to die. He sighed and headed off to work.

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"Uughh!" David Sinclair greeted him when Colby finally arrived in the bull-pen. "You look like I feel."

"Thanks" Colby fired back sarcastically. "You ain't gonna win any beauty contest either, you know"

" I don't have to" David replied. "I was hired for my crackerjack detective skills and ability to deal with difficult partners. And just to prove how good I am at it, I come bearing coffee and bagels from Schonenberg's"

. The restaurant his partner named was one of Colby's favorite places to grab a quick breakfast. Sinclair maintained they made the most mouth watering bagels outside of Manhattan, a rather large concession for a loyal son of New York to make. After the first few bites of his initial one, Colby'd agreed and been a fan ever since.

Today, though, as the cup of coffee was passed under his nose, Granger felt his already painful abdomen turn over with an unwelcome developing nausea. He backed away, fighting the urge to retch.

"Um, no thanks, man. No bagels or coffee today. I think I'll just settle for water right now."

A surprised blink from David. " Alright, who are you, and what have you done with Colby Granger?" Sinclair said, jokingly. "The Colby I know does not pass up caffeine. Ever."

"He is today. I can't…" What Colby couldn't do was left unsaid as Don arrived, drafting Sinclair and Granger into the briefing room in his wake along with Nikki Bentancourt and Liz Warner.

Studying the image which appeared on the oversized monitor, Colby was looking at middle-aged, well dressed man. An angular, face complete with aquiline nose, and a head of salt and pepper hair.

"This is Amir Sahar" Don began. "Mr. Sahar is an arms dealer that specializes in bio-weapons. He normally operates in Europe, but we've received info that indicates he may be expanding his horizons."

Don continued on but Granger was only halfway hearing what was said. More and more of his attention was being diverted to not embarrassing himself by upchucking all over the unsuspecting Nikki Bentancourt, seated next to him. Still in pain and increasingly nauseous, he excused himself hurriedly and headed for the men's room with as much dignity as he could scrape together. Noting David's concerned glance after him, Colby picked up the pace, still barely making it in time. Pale and shaky, he washed out his mouth and splashed cold water on his face, preparing to head back to the briefing room. He had a hand on the door to push it open when Sinclair pushed from the other side.

"Okay, you looked a little the worse for wear before, but now you don't just look green around the gills, you look sick as a dog. You need to turn around and go home, Colby. Right now, man."

"Nah, I'm ok. I think maybe that sandwich last night didn't agree with me after all. But, uh, I, I'm alright. Really. Feel a lot better now. Let's just get back to work, huh, before we incur the wrath of Don Eppes" Granger tried to lighten the words by backing them with a crooked grin, hoping to disarm David's concerns. No such luck. Sinclair wasn't buying.

"No way. You're looking worse by the second. Now either you go back in there and tell Don a day off is in order or I will. What's it gonna be?" When he got no response from Colby, who was busy choosing between his expanding discomfort and a way to alleviate Sinclair's big brother impulses, David determined his choice had been made. Turning on his heel to head back to briefing, he felt Colby's hand on his elbow.

"Come on, don't do that. I just have a stomach ache. It's no big deal. It's hardly the first time in the history of the bureau that an agent has had stomach trouble. No need to freak out and sic the boss on me. I'll pop a couple of antacids and be as good as new in no time. You'll see. Just let it go, huh, David?" Colby's effort to be convincing was somewhat short-circuited by the wince of pain he could not quite keep off his face.

"No, Colby. Not ok. The way you are now, you are not fit for duty. Listen to me. You. Need. To. Go. Home. And. Get. Off. Your. Feet. And it's not open for debate. You gonna ask Don for the day off? No? Then I'll do it for you. Somebody's gotta take care of you, since you obviously don't plan to do it for yourself." He turned away again.

Colby's second attempt to stop him abruptly hit a wall. The step he took after Sinclair was halted in mid-stride as he was gut-punched by the worst pain of the day. Doubling over with agony, Granger suddenly found himself on his hands and knees in front of the entire fifth floor. His vision blurred and swam as the corridor tilted to an odd angle. Dimly, he heard David's voice.

"Colby! Colby! Look at me! What's wrong? What is it?!" Colby?!"

The last thing Colby registered with his fading consciousness was David Sinclair frantically yelling for a medic. Then somebody hit the off switch.

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	2. Chapter 2

A is for Anesthesia

Chapter 2

Flashes of light and snippets of sound. Disorientation.

"Agent Granger! Can you hear m…! fade out,

"Colby! Open your eyes, try to st…!" David's voice

The irritating wail of a siren. A jolting ride.

"Ow!" the sharp jab of a needle. He was inexplicably unable to move his arms. He clinched his eyes shut against the intrusion of a penlight but they were pried open. Colby followed the hand holding the light up the arm it was attached to. The face both belonged to was unfamiliar.

Snatches of conversations.

"Pressure's rising! Let's ge…!" fade out again

A rush of cool air hit his face as doors of the ambulance were flung open and the gurney was wrenched out and pushed thru the ER doors.

"What have we got?!" a strange voice asked. He tried to find its owner but was unable to focus. Colby missed the reply.

"I thi… I th.." He tried to convey he thought he was about to be sick again but couldn't form the words in time. His stomach rolled like a tank navigating rough terrain. He started to retch again. To his vague relief, somebody, he might never know who, was ready. A basin appeared just in time. Another fade out.

Beep!... Beep!... Beep!... Beep!... Gradually the rhythmic sound of the of the vital signs monitor he was hooked up to penetrated the anesthesia induced haze his brain was wrapped in. Colby very slowly opened his eyes to see the unmistakable surroundings of a hospital recovery room. He moaned softly, barely registered the fact that he was no longer nauseous or in pain, and was asleep again.

When he next awoke, it was to a much quieter environment. The subdued lighting of the room he was in was assisted minimally by the lowered light coming from the hospital corridor. Turning his head, Granger could see the dusk of the L.A. sky thru the room's large picture window. Reversing direction, he looked to his right to see David and Don standing near the entrance, discussing a file Don held by the light coming thru the door glass. He cleared his throat to speak, alerting both the other men to the fact that he was now awake. Don closed the file as he and Sinclair shifted their focus to the newly conscious Colby.

"Hey, partner. How do you feel?" David asked, keeping his voice pitched low.

"Better, I guess" Colby whispered hoarsely, clearing his throat again. "What…what happened to me?" Lingering effects of the anesthesia fogged his mind, making his tongue feel thick. Speech was difficult.

"You really know how to liven up a day at the office, Colb." This was Don. "Appendicitis. Acute no less. Docs said if we'd waited any longer to get you here, the thing would have burst on you. Which was about a half hour from happening. Would've been much worse then."

'Yeah" David added, unable to resist needling the helpless Colby. "Good thing you swooned at my feet like a little girl!"

Colby gave him the fish-eye. "I didn't swoon" he declared with as much indignation as his depleted condition would allow. "I had appendicitis? I thought it was just dinner from the night before coming back to bite me! Wait, People don't pass out from appendicitis."

"Well, it was a lot more than that. You were also still physically worn down, and just so you know, that roast beef was a little suspect, but, uh, you're gonna be fine now. Docs whipped you into surgery and yanked that sucker out in record time." Don informed him. "Gave you what they called a 'laparoscopic appendectomy' That wouldn't have been possible if the appendix had ruptured, so in a way, you lucked out."

"Look, Colby, there's an entire waiting room full of people anxious to see you. I think the nursing staff is starting to get a bit testy about it. I'm gonna start ferrying 'em in here one or two at a time so we can clear the place out and you can get some rest, ok" With that David disappeared, making his way to where Nikki, Liz, Charlie, Amita, Alan and Larry waited.

Eventually, the waiting room did clear, as Colby's coworkers and friends filed in and then out of his hospital room after verifying his improving condition. As gratified as he was by their solicitude, he was even happier to see the last of them off so he could finally close his eyes. Between the appendicitis, the continuing effects of the anesthesia and the pain meds he was receiving thru the IV drip in his hand, stringing together a coherent thought, let alone a sentence was way more that he was equal to. With relief, he sleepily acknowledged David's "good night" and was out almost immediately.

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Granger's eyes opened to slits in the almost completely dark room. He lay still trying to identify what it was that had pulled him from his restless, slumber. His dream of a violent tussle with a suspect faded into the realm of the subconscious. Still groggy and medicated, he was not able to muster enough energy to stay awake for more than a few seconds. Hearing nothing, his senses dulled, he drifted off again and began to dream. He was back in the warehouse, grappling with the suspect, a man known to his leather clad biker buddies by the name of "Hammerhead" once more.

"Help! Someone please help me!"

The muffled plea jarred him awake once again. Not moving, trying to determine if the words were an echo of his dreams, Colby started when it was repeated.

"Help! Pleas…!" the sound cut off sharply, replaced by others too indistinct for his sub-par comprehension to sort out. Without warning, the wall behind his head vibrated when the one it adjoined was thumped hard. As hazy as his perceptions were, to Granger, it seemed that someone in the neighboring room was in serious difficulty.

With a tremendous effort, he sublimated his body's eagerness to slip back into the refuge of sleep. Slightly more awake, he eased himself into a sitting position, emitting low level gasps as his injured abdominal area protested. Perspiration beaded his forehead as he swung out of bed, ultimately getting both feet flat on the floor. Drawing in a deep breath, he stood, latching onto the bed's railing with a white-knuckled grip as his balance threatened to desert him. He could still hear faint sounds of the apparent struggle taking place next door. Steeling himself, he took two halting steps towards the doorway but felt a tug. He looked down. His fuzzy mind had failed to take the IV into account. Disconnecting it, he continued his stumbling advance for the exit.

After what felt like an eternity, he reached the hallway and stuck his head out, seeing it empty. He was in W428. His destination was five feet and a continent away. He kept moving, shuffling along with deliberation. Achieving the goal of room W430, Colby shoved the door open with the last of his waning strength. The scene which awaited him was surreal.

His blurred vision, complicated by lightheadedness, took in two figures dressed in black clothing hovering over one clad in the pale green of a hospital gown now lying still in the bed. A shiny, sharp looking implement disappeared from sight as the two standing swung around to see Granger swaying unsteadily in the doorway, convinced he was witnessing a murder in progress.

"What…what the…what's going on here? What…are…you…do…doing? Get…get…way…from him." His befuddled brain belatedly seized at a notion that made perfect sense in his confused state.

Both the attackers were clearly discomfited at being interrupted. Cursing, they advanced on the woozy FBI agent.

"F…F…FB…FBI...st…stop!" Granger sputtered with all the surgery depreciated force at his command. It didn't have the effect he would have preferred. They kept coming. In no shape to mount a defense, Colby realized he might be forced to anyway. He tried to set himself in some sort of a protective posture but didn't get the time. Before his painkiller influenced muscles could react, they were on him. Readying for an assault, Granger was instead roughly shoved back out into the corridor, noisily upsetting a cart loaded with medical supplies. His legs, determining enough was enough, gave way, and he slumped against the far wall. Dimly he registered the pair of assailants vanishing thru the marked stairwell door as the nursing staff, drawn by the commotion, put in an overdue arrival. Colby rested his head on the cool tile of the floor, too wrung out to do more.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. All the OC's in this story are mine. Enough blather on my part. On with the story. **

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David Sinclair walked down the hospital corridor towards Colby's room, running through the day's events in his head. Since it was officially after regular hours, the hallways were mostly deserted except for staff and the odd patient or two, wheeled IV poles in tow. Due to their unorthodox work schedules, something the medical professionals could relate to, Don's team was given a little extra slack concerning visiting privileges. He tried not to feel too guilty about the six or so cell phone calls he hadn't had the chance to return. Or about the toasted sub gobbled in haste just before arriving. Not from the same place as Colby's tainted sandwich, thanks very much. Granger was going to be on "soft" foods for at least the next forty-eight hours or so. No sense rubbing it in. He popped a mint. Steak and caramelized onions with melted cheddar left behind a certain cache.

As he passed the nurse's station on his way to where Colby was probably wide awake and contemplating a late night raid on the hospital kitchen, he was flagged down by a nurse. Her name badge read "Diane Stevens"

"I'm glad I caught you before you went in" she greeted him, smiling a little nervously. She pointed to a nearby unoccupied room. "Could I talk to you for a sec?" Not waiting for a reply, Nurse Stevens led the way. She closed the door behind him after they were both in. She held her hands together in front of her, two fingers tapping her mouth, as if she were trying to figure out how to begin. Slightly weird, David thought.

"What is it? Is something wrong with Colby? He just came in here with appendicitis!"

"No, no, he's fine. As a matter of fact I think he's going to be released tomorrow. He's healing fine. It's only that, well, uh, well this is kind of awkward. Um, when you see your friend, you might want to be prepared to for something a little out of the ordinary."

"Out of the ordinary? What does that mean?" Sinclair asked.

"Well, you might hear sort of an unusual story. After you all left yesterday, his night took something of an 'imaginative' turn." She stopped again, hesitant.

"Look, Nurse Stevens, why don't you just go ahead and spit out whatever it is you're trying to say, ok, hum" David prodded ,beginning to get irritated.

"Alright, here it is. Your friend is absolutely convinced, and nothing we can say has been able to persuade him otherwise, he is absolutely convinced that he witnessed a murder in the room next to his last night."

A wha!...a mur…a murder! Colby thinks he saw a murder happen!? What kind of hospital are you people running here, anyway? A murder!?"

"Agent Sinclair, I can guarantee you, there was NO murder last night. At least not in this hospital! No one was murdered or assaulted or anything of that kind! That's what I was trying to tell you. Mr. Granger…"

"Agent Granger" David reminded her.

"_Agent_ Granger" she repeated, stressing the word, "has totally made up his mind that he saw something in this hospital last night that did not, did not, happen. I mean, really, we're nurses and doctors. I think we would notice if that sort of thing took place. Dead bodies are something we're all trained to recognize. Particularly when they get that way via the violent assistance of another party!" Now Stevens was indignant. Collecting herself, she exhaled sharply. "Sorry, got carried away. I just thought you might appreciate a little warning."

""I consider myself warned" Sinclair answered. "Why don't you tell me why Colby is so sure he saw somebody getting 'violently assisted' last night? Let's back up and start from the beginning, please"

"We think it was combination of the pain meds, the after effects of the anesthesia, and the medication he was receiving to help with the mild case of food poisoning. Between that and his body's run down condition, everything sort of added together and knocked him for a loop. At any rate, he fell asleep, had himself one heck of a dream, and ended up on his back in the hall. We got him back in his own bed, checked to make sure nothing was torn or ripped open, and then gave him a sedative to help him sleep, and thought that was the end of it. The entire time we were getting him resettled, though, he was mumbling something about the man in the next room being in trouble, that 'they" were killing him and the guy needed help. He was still insisting on it when the sedative started to work and he faded off. All day today, I mean, he's definitely more clear-headed. But he still maintains he saw what he thinks he saw" Stevens paused. "He kept trying to call you. I think he got frustrated when you didn't call back. He's been on pins and needles waiting for one of you to get here. So be prepared"

"What about the patient in the next room? Is he alright? Not harmed?"

"That's exactly the point, Agent Sinclair. There _is_ no patient in the next room. There hasn't been for the last three days. It's been completely empty all week. It is not possible that Agent Granger saw a murder or anything else happening in there. Simply not possible. We've been trying to assure him of that all day, but he won't let it go. Maybe your visit will help."

They stepped out, with Stevens headed back to her duties and David, forewarned about the reason for Colby's agitation, went to see his friend.

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Colby pounced as soon as he stepped through the door.

"Finally! Man, I've been calling you all day! How come you didn't return any of my calls?! David, there was murder in this hospital last night! The guy in the next room was killed!" He went on to describe for Sinclair the scene he'd observed the previous night, leaving out none of the details.

David came to understand what Nurse Stevens meant by "totally made up his mind." His partner was rock solid certain that the patient in room W430 had become the victim of foul play during the prior night. Nothing David said could budge him.

"Tell me something. What was going on right before all this happened? I mean, were you sleeping, having trouble sleeping, about to page the nurse for a midnight snack, what?"

"I was...crap, okay fine, I was dreaming about the warehouse. The shootout, the fight, all of that" Granger conceded reluctantly.

"Colby, the hospital staff say there's been nobody in that room all week, man. How could there have been a killing in there when the room's been deserted?"

"I know what I saw, David. I did not dream it and I wasn't so doped up that I imagined the whole thing. I'm telling you, it happened! I've been trying to get somebody to take me serious all day! The nurses, the doctors, anybody! They keep blowing me off. I even tried taking a look myself but I'm not in good enough shape to give the room a really in-depth check. Every time I try I get one of the nurses crawling up my…they keep trying to give me a shot, telling me to calm down. Calm down! Like I'm some kind of basket case." Colby, David could see, was not just frustrated, he was starting to get angry

"Look, Colby how about this? _I'll_ go next door and give the place a close examination. I promise you I will check every crack and crevice. I will check out every inch of that room. Whatever happened, there should be some kind of evidence, right?" Colby nodded in agreement.

"So here's the deal. I'll do the whole evidence investigation thing. See what's what. Try to come up with some proof of what you say you saw. Hopefully I'll find something. But now, listen, you gotta do this for me, man. If I turn that room over, get in close, down on my and knees and check everything out real thoroughly, and I don't find anything…" he stopped Colby's interruption. "If I don't find anything, you need to accept that maybe, just maybe, the staff isn't blowing you off. That maybe it was a continuation of the dream. A very realistic continuation, but nothing more. Think about it man. You've had a rough week Colby. Come on, cut yourself a break, alright?"

"I didn't dream this, David." Colby said stubbornly, sounding a little less certain.

"Then, I'll find that out, won't I? But if I don't come up with anything…" Sinclair left the sentence unfinished,

"Yeah, yeah, if you don't find anything, I'll back off. But I know what I saw!"

A tense thirty minutes later, David came back in to find a fidgety Granger sitting in a chair, impatiently drumming his fingers on the arm. He sprang up, well got up as quickly as he could as Sinclair returned.

"Well?"

"You trust me, right?" David began.

"Come on, you know I do. Just tell me, what did you find?"

"Colby, man, that room is pristine. No blood, no signs of a struggle, nothing out of place. There's not even a sign that anybody's been in that room for several days. No sign. And I did get down on my hands and knees and eyeball everything. I checked out the bathroom, behind everything, checked the drains, under the bed, behind the bed, along the baseboards, the works. Nothing, pal. Not one thing."

Granger sat down again, heavily. "But, I, I don't understand this. I just don't understand it!" Colby was a study in baffled confusion. 'I mean, I, I, just…Uugh! he pounded a fist on the arm of the chair.

"Like I said before, you've had a twilight zone week. We've all been pushing hard lately. And then, after years of peaceful coexistence, your appendix decides to turn and attack. You've been sick, medicated up the wahzoo, operated on and exhausted. You're entitled brother. Why don't you try to get some rest and let this go. They're gonna spring you tomorrow. Once you get home, back in your own bed, surrounded by your own stuff, you won't even think about last night anymore. It was a dream. A very real dream, that's it. If it's any consolation, I don't thing you're nuts, huh? And, uh, I'm not planning on telling Don or Nikki or Liz. We can keep this between the two of us. My lips are sealed. You know, unless…" David grinned, an evil laugh emerging. "Unless you balk at getting my coffee when you get back to work!" He grinned wider.

"Get out!" Colby snapped, grinning right back. As Sinclair left, he got back into bed, still trying to make sense of the last two days. Exasperated, he shook his head, pulled the covers up, found a comfortable position and called it a night.

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Three days later, he had to admit, David had been right. Back at home, comfortable and in familiar surroundings, he was able to look on the whole incident as a bizarre dream. He almost phoned the nurses to apologize for giving them such a hard time.

"Dude" He told himself, "time to move on. Get well, get back to work"

Kerri was out of town, assisting Robin Brooks in coordinating a big multi-state RICO case with federal prosecutors in Denver. Probably wouldn't be back for at least one more day. Knowing this, and worrying over Colby like he was another son, Alan Eppes had descended on the convalescing agent with at least a week's worth of prepared meals, complete with disposable containers and reheating instructions. Colby was standing in front of his open refrigerator pondering over which to select when his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Agent Granger?! Agent Colby Granger?!" The voice sounded young, fearful and anxious.

"Yes, this is Colby Granger. Who is this?"

"You have to help me! You're the only one who believes me! Nobody else believes me! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!!! Please, please help me!"

""Hold on, hold it. Calm down, ok? You need to tell me who you are and what's going on? How can I help?"

"It's my dad! They took him. They took him right out of the hospital! And I don't know what they did with him! Where they took him! And nobody will believe me! But you will. I know you will because you saw what happened. You're the only other one who saw what happened! You have to help me! Please! Wait…No! What are you… No, no, get away from me! No! No! Help! Somebody help! Somebody HEL…"

The line went dead, a dial tone replacing the frantic pleas for assistance. Colby stared at the receiver in his hand, mind racing.

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**Author's note: Oh come on now, you knew Colby wasn't just dreaming! The plot thickens. Stay tuned! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: This is going to get very repetitious, but, of course I don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the characters. The OC's in the story are mine and on and on…**

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"I knew it!" Colby hissed under his breath as he drove. "I knew something happened in that room. Why did I let myself be talked into accepting that it was just a dream? I knew it! I knew it was real!" He pounded the steering wheel, angry at himself for what was now probably wasted time.

After receiving the distraught, ominously terminated phone call he'd considered several options. One, which he discarded almost immediately, was that this was someone's idea of an elaborate practical joke. Somebody who knew of his experience at the hospital and the kind of reception his insistence that it all really took place had received. No, he decided, the call wasn't a joke. Dealing with many people under stress over the years, Colby figured he could tell by now when he was hearing the real thing. There was nothing phony about the anguish of that call. The patient in room W430 was the victim of a kidnapping, not a murder, at least not for certain a murder yet. Maybe two kidnappings by now, he reminded himself. Whoever the caller was, they hadn't hung up voluntarily. They hadn't called back either. Quite possibly, he ruminated grimly, because they were unable to.

Whatever the reason was, he would not waste any more time. Some unknown person, probably more than one, was in serious trouble, and right at this moment, Colby was the only one who had a clue about it. He had to do something, to at least try to help.

The first thread he pulled, the telephone call, went nowhere. Having the call traced revealed that it originated from a payphone nowhere near him. If his mystery contact was unable to do so again against their will, he couldn't wait for that to change. As he dressed gingerly, he considered his next move. He locked down his initial impulse, to contact David, Don or one of his other teammates. David was firmly convinced that it was all the by-product of an anesthesia and medication fueled dream. Persuading him, or any of rest of the team otherwise was going to require proof. Besides, they were all working a live criminal investigation. Pulling them away from it to chase the nebulous likelihood of one was not something Colby was prepared to attempt. So, for now, he was on his own, sore and less than one hundred percent though he was. Finished dressing, he hunted down his badge, ID and, after some deliberation, his gun and cuffs. Better to have and not need and all that. He was ready.

Plan B hit a snag right away. Room W430 had a new occupant. Colby eased open the door, after having taken pains to slip onto the floor unobserved, only to find an elderly gentlemen snoozing away in bed. A younger person, looking enough like the old man to be his son, snored softly in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs provided for visitors.

As he was mulling over Plan C, Nurse Diane Stevens came into view. She was just beginning her working hours with the shift change. Her mouth widened, shocked to see her former patient standing fifteen feet away.

"Why, Mr., I mean, Agent Granger, what brings you here?" She seemed acutely flustered. Her apparent distress at seeing him again triggered Colby's chase reflex. The look he returned to her was one that would have been recognizable to any one of the suspects or reluctant witnesses ending up on the wrong end of one of Granger's interrogations. He pinned her to the spot with his verdant glare.

"Nurse Stevens" his chill not-quite-a-smile conveying a message that the next few moments would likely be not very enjoyable for her, "Let's talk"

"I, I really can't Agent. I have patients to attend to, duties to take care of." She made a move to go round him. He blocked her.

"I'm afraid your patients and 'duties' are gonna have to cool their jets." His tone brooked no debate. "You got some 'splainin to do, Lucy. Right now. You can do it here, or you can do it down at the Bureau offices after I place you under arrest for obstruction. (He was bluffing, but she didn't know that) those are your choices. And neither is subject to negotiation." He paused, eyeing her in his most intimidating manner, "Limited time offer. Tick…tock"

Diane Stevens was a terrific RN but she'd make a lousy poker player. He watched a series of emotions flicker across her face in the span of about twenty seconds, finally settling on resignation. She looked down the hall and then pointed in the direction of the common quiet room that was the sight of her conversation with David Sinclair earlier in the week.

Once they were inside, she turned to face him. "You have to understand, Agent Granger. They told us, that is, it was explained to all of us that…well, we, the staff here, we had to say what we did! It's a matter of _national security!_ Gravest importance. That's what we were all told! We didn't have a choice! _I _didn't have a choice! It's not right that any of us, any of the personnel in this hospital should be caught in the middle of this thing! That's not fair! We're only doing what we're supposed to do! What we were _instructed _to do! And say! And now, you want to arrest me! That's just not fair!" She was on the verge of tears.

Colby squelched the voice in his head yammering that he was a first class cad for making the nice nurse lady cry and pressed on. He could apologize after he got to the bottom of whatever was going on.

"Hit the reverse button for a second. _Who _told you _what_ was a matter of national security? I need details, Nurse Stevens, the more the better. You can start with the who and work your way up to the whole national security part. Come on, give."

"Homeland Security" she breathed the words out in a whisper, angry now. Her upset lent her a measure of boldness. "The Department of Homeland Security. When Dr. Gerrard was admitted, they told us it was critically important that it be kept under wraps. That under _no_ circumstances were any of us to acknowledge he was being treated here. Two of their agents talked to all of the staff that had a hand in Dr. Gerrard's care. They made sure we understood how vital it was that his presence be kept completely secret. That even if someone, no matter who it was, asked, we couldn't admit anything! So you see, we were only following instructions!"

"Dr. Gerrard?" Colby prodded.

"Yes, Dr. Conrad Gerrard. He's a prominent scientist. A _government_ scientist. His work is in bio-weapons research. They didn't get more specific than that. Just that what he does is very important in the war on terror. He checked in two days before you arrived. Supposedly some kind of heart related illness, but I never bought that from the beginning. Someone with heart problems should have been admitted to our coronary care unit. I think it was just more nervous exhaustion. The poor man was so tightly wound, so worried. Aside from the Homeland Security people there was also the request from his wife to think about" Stevens stopped, more calm now.

"His wife?"

"Yes, Mrs. Alison Gerrard. Mrs. Alison _Lucern_ Gerrard."

"Is her name meant to have some sort of special significance?" Granger was puzzled.

'Oh, honestly. I thought you were an FBI agent! How could you not know about the Lucern's. The family is extremely prominent. Considerably influential. They advise governments! Plural! The kind of people they rub shoulders with run the world. Not to mention their financial and real estate holdings!"

"Okay, Okay, I get it. The wife is American royalty. She asked you to keep her husband's admission hush-hush too?"

Stevens nodded. "So when you went into his room that night, she was very distressed. So much so that she insisted he be moved that very night! Which I supposed was done while myself and Kathy Ramos were busy seeing to you after your fall. When we went into Dr. Gerrard's room to check on him, he was gone!"

"You didn't have any problem with that? The sudden disappearance of a patient in the middle of the night is normal for you?" Colby shook his head disbelievingly.

"I told you, that was at Mrs. Gerrard and the Homeland Security personnel's insistence!"

"Nurse Stevens, are you sure the 'Homeland Security' agents were the genuine article?"

"Well, of course I am. They had the proper identification. And I hope you aren't about to suggest that Mrs. Gerrad was a fraud also. Rest assured, even if you have no idea what she looks like, the staff of this hospital does. Why our administrator is a friend of hers. I believe they serve on some of the same boards. I have done nothing wrong, Agent Granger. I insist you allow me to go back to work." Stevens stubbornly crossed her arms, still rattled.

Colby absently stepped aside to let the woman pass, already focused on the implications of the info he'd received. Whatever Stevens and her colleagues believed, Gerrard's exit from St. Ambrose that night was anything but voluntary or gentle. And hardly at the promptings of a loving spouse. He had not witnessed a murder or a patient being peacefully relocated, he'd seen an attempted abduction. Which had been competed later, obviously. Problem was, at the moment, he had no way to prove it. Despite his bluster, he really had no leverage or way to induce Nurse Stevens or any of the other hospital personnel to tell the truth about what actually happened. Also, if the Lucern family was as well connected as Diane Stevens implied, they could simply ignore any requests for cooperation. Or worse, make serious trouble for any one digging too deep or looking too closely. All the while, Gerrard and his son (?), Colby's mysterious caller, would be no better off and maybe worse. His somber musings were interrupted by Stevens "ahem". He turned.

"I can go now, right? I'm not in any trouble?" She acted as if she was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Alright you heel, he berated himself silently, time to let this poor woman off the hook. "Yes, you can go. And you, none of you, is in any trouble. You haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry if I upset you. And you're a dynamite nurse."

Her "thanks" was thrown over one shoulder as she fled the room with relief, leaving Colby alone.

He was back in his truck headed for home when his cell rang. Oops. Caller ID told him it was David. Busted.

"Granger."

"Don't you 'Granger' me!" David's furious baritone barked. "Where are you?! And don't say at home, because I'm sitting on your couch right now courtesy of your building manager who happens to know what good friends we are! You're supposed to be recovering from surgery, Colby, not driving around town!"

"I can explain" Colby told his friend, trying to placate him.

"Oh, believe me, you're about to! Am I an idiot for hoping you're on your way here?"

"I should be pulling up in about ten minutes." Colby answered.

"I'll be here!" David's call cut off in Granger's ear.

Whoopee. Well, might as well get it over with. Getting yelled at by your best buddy was a lot like ripping off a bandage. If you could ride out the first few minutes, the sting started to fade.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Here we go again. Don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. OC's in the story are mine. I do this enough times the disclaimer may start to write itself.**

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"What were you thinking, Colby? I mean, I know the surgery wasn't as major as it could have been, but still… the docs gave you at least a week to ten days to take it real easy. Which part of 'don't do anything strenuous' and 'no driving' went by too fast for you?"

David launched into him before he could get the door open good.

"Do you not understand that the more you do what the doctors tell you the faster you heal and the quicker you get back to your normal routine and back to work? Sometimes I think your head is the only substance harder than diamonds."

"Look, don't make a big deal out of it, huh? I'm fine. I swear! 'kay, a little tender, but no permanent harm done. I'm sturdier that that! Don't make too much out of this."

"You want to tell me exactly what was so important that you had to go against doctor's orders? Where'd you go anyway?"

Here we go, Colby thought. "I, um, I went back to the hospital" he admitted.

"What? Why? You said you're not having any adverse reactions. Why would you need to go back to the hospital…? Oh no, wait a minute! Tell me you didn't go back to that room! Come on, Colby! There was no murder man! It didn't happen. It was a _dream_!"

"No, David. It was not a dream. Something _did_ take place in that room. Just not what I thought, that's all." He went on before Sinclair could jump in. "David, I _know_ for certain it positively was not a dream or the result of medication or anesthesia. I didn't see a murder. David. I saw an attempted kidnapping. What I didn't know until today is that they came back for him!"

He stopped the incipient interruption by speaking first, starting with the brief, cryptic phone call and then included his field trip and conversation with Nurse Stevens. By the time he was finished, Granger could tell he had his partner's undivided attention.

"Homeland Security? Stevens said Homeland Security was involved in all of this?"

"Homeland Security doesn't operate that way. At least I hope they don't. Plus the call. Whoever it was sounded scared to death. He was a kid, David, the person on the phone. It was a kid. Probably pre-teen. The voice was young, male, and completely freaked out. Now he might be in trouble too. I'm not going to let this go. I can't. These people need my help."

Sinclair regarded him solemnly. "No, I wouldn't expect you to let it go, after hearing what you just told me." He was silent for a moment. "Alright look, the place to start is with Gerrard. Find out about him and his work. Find out where he's _supposed_ to be and what he's supposed to be doing. I'll take that angle. You need to start with the wife and her family. If the Lucern family is involved, we're going to have to watch where we step."

" Does everybody know who these people are except me? Colby was annoyed. Stevens and now you? I don't …wait, we? You believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you, rock head. There's too much smoke for there not to be some fire here somewhere. But we're going to have to find it before we can knock it down"

How are you gonna help with this? Don't you already have a full time active case?"

"Yeah" David answered. "And if Don catches me not working it, I better have something pretty substantial to show for it. I'm gonna get out of here and get started."

"Great. Since I'm already dressed I can…"

"You can park yourself on that sofa with your laptop and start researching the Lucern family. I'd kind of like to know how a husband goes missing, especially _this_ husband, and not a whisper shows up anywhere, wouldn't you? You can do that without leaving this apartment. You are supposed to be recuperating from surgery, Colby. For the sake of your stitches and my sanity, will you at least try to do this the right way?" Sinclair said, exasperatedly.

"Yes, Dr. Sinclair" Colby replied, with a cocky grin.

Regarding him with an almost parental disgust, David shook his head. "I'm being punished for something, ain't I?" he said, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. "Just stay in, alright? I'll call you later. We can compare notes"

Getting back into his car, Sinclair glanced in the rearview mirror. "Oh, shut up" he told his wary reflection, starting the car to head back to the office.

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_RING!!!_

"Hello"

"The black one…"

"I believe the correct term is 'African-American' Clarence."

"Sorry. The _African-American_ one" Clarence emphasized, careful to keep the irritation from his voice, "just left. What do you want us to do?"

"Merely surveillance for now. The necessary arrangements must be made for more complete coverage of either man. Do absolutely nothing to draw the attention of the FBI. Is that understood?"

"Completely." Clarence sniffed at having his competence called into question. There was no need to be insulting. After all, _he_ was a professional. Nothing like those two stooges who worked the hospital job.

"Excellent. Goodbye." The conversation was ended without ceremony.

Clarence closed his phone, and, after dropping off Keith to keep an eye on Granger's building, concentrated on following the black age…the _African-American _agent. Great. Now they had to worry about not alerting the Bureau. Clarence sighed heavily. The things he did for a paycheck.

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_SLAP!!! _Alison Gerrard gasped. The shock of being struck was more painful than the actual impact. Being slapped around was a unique sensation for her.

"How…wh…what…why?!" She shrank under the threat of another blow. "What did I do to deserve that?!

"You stupid woman! Your bungling has succeeded in involving the FBI. At the worst possible time! First you fail to contain your husband, then you allow his whelp to contact an FBI agent!

"But I…" She cringed as Amir Sahar whirled, dark eyes blazing with fury.

"Be quiet! Are you too simple to comprehend?! Our dealings are at a critical juncture. We cannot afford any undue scrutiny. Particularly from the Federal Bureau of Investigation!"

"They, they don't suspect anything!" Alison was frantic to contain Sahar's anger. She knew he could be very violent. She never expected to be on the receiving end.

Sahar gripped the woman savagely. Glaring her protests into silence, he flung her to the antique oriental rug. She cowered there, terrified, afraid of provoking him, unable to fathom what she could do to diffuse his rage. For the first time in her memory, Alison Lucern Gerrard was too frightened to speak. She could only be thankful the entire horrid scene was played out privately. The idea of anyone witnessing this…humiliation, was too grotesque to consider. It was this last thought that enabled her to gather herself together. Alison stood, drawing herself up to her full height. She was a _Lucern. _That meant something! He dared to strike her! She vowed to make him regret that. For now, however…

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"What we have no choice but to do. We move up the timetable. I cannot take the chance that your fumbling about has alerted the FBI to our dealings. Negotiations with my present clients are proceeding nicely. That must not be interfered with. Therefore, you will follow my instructions precisely. Your husband may too valuable to kill, but he must be silenced until our plans for him can be brought to fruition. You will attend to this matter."

"How should I do that? He has friends within the United States government, people that he works with, military and civilian connections. I, I'm not sure how to proceed" She admitted, sure she was about to provoke another outburst.

Sahar reached out, smirking cruelly as Alison flinched involuntarily. He cupped her chin in an iron grip. His voice, soft as it had been as her lover, was now chilling.

"Why, my dear, the solution is so obvious that even you should be able to grasp it. When you seek to control someone, you must wrap your hand around their heart."

'My, my husband and I…Conrad and I came to an understanding long ago. Our marriage is a convenient business arrangement. Nothing more." Although she knew Sahar was aware of the sterile condition of her marriage, the admission still shamed her.

"I was not referring to you. In your husband's case, his heart lies with his child. To control the father, we only need make proper use of the boy." He took a small leather case from his pocket, explaining its contents to her and issuing instructions on their use.

Though stepmother, and a distant one at best, to Conrad Gerrard's son, Christopher, Alison suddenly felt a totally useless pity for the ten-year old's fate. She smothered it. She would do what had to be done. She always had.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. All the OC's in this story are mine. Enough blather on my part. On with the story. **

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David Sinclair walked down the hospital corridor towards Colby's room, running through the day's events in his head. Since it was officially after regular hours, the hallways were mostly deserted except for staff and the odd patient or two, wheeled IV poles in tow. Due to their unorthodox work schedules, something the medical professionals could relate to, Don's team was given a little extra slack concerning visiting privileges. He tried not to feel too guilty about the six or so cell phone calls he hadn't had the chance to return. Or about the toasted sub gobbled in haste just before arriving. Not from the same place as Colby's tainted sandwich, thanks very much. Granger was going to be on "soft" foods for at least the next forty-eight hours or so. No sense rubbing it in. He popped a mint. Steak and caramelized onions with melted cheddar left behind a certain cache.

As he passed the nurse's station on his way to where Colby was probably wide awake and contemplating a late night raid on the hospital kitchen, he was flagged down by a nurse. Her name badge read "Diane Stevens"

"I'm glad I caught you before you went in" she greeted him, smiling a little nervously. She pointed to a nearby unoccupied room. "Could I talk to you for a sec?" Not waiting for a reply, Nurse Stevens led the way. She closed the door behind him after they were both in. She held her hands together in front of her, two fingers tapping her mouth, as if she were trying to figure out how to begin. Slightly weird, David thought.

"What is it? Is something wrong with Colby? He just came in here with appendicitis!"

"No, no, he's fine. As a matter of fact I think he's going to be released tomorrow. He's healing fine. It's only that, well, uh, well this is kind of awkward. Um, when you see your friend, you might want to be prepared to for something a little out of the ordinary."

"Out of the ordinary? What does that mean?" Sinclair asked.

"Well, you might hear sort of an unusual story. After you all left yesterday, his night took something of an 'imaginative' turn." She stopped again, hesitant.

"Look, Nurse Stevens, why don't you just go ahead and spit out whatever it is you're trying to say, ok, hum" David prodded ,beginning to get irritated.

"Alright, here it is. Your friend is absolutely convinced, and nothing we can say has been able to persuade him otherwise, he is absolutely convinced that he witnessed a murder in the room next to his last night."

A wha!...a mur…a murder! Colby thinks he saw a murder happen!? What kind of hospital are you people running here, anyway? A murder!?"

"Agent Sinclair, I can guarantee you, there was NO murder last night. At least not in this hospital! No one was murdered or assaulted or anything of that kind! That's what I was trying to tell you. Mr. Granger…"

"Agent Granger" David reminded her.

"_Agent_ Granger" she repeated, stressing the word, "has totally made up his mind that he saw something in this hospital last night that did not, did not, happen. I mean, really, we're nurses and doctors. I think we would notice if that sort of thing took place. Dead bodies are something we're all trained to recognize. Particularly when they get that way via the violent assistance of another party!" Now Stevens was indignant. Collecting herself, she exhaled sharply. "Sorry, got carried away. I just thought you might appreciate a little warning."

""I consider myself warned" Sinclair answered. "Why don't you tell me why Colby is so sure he saw somebody getting 'violently assisted' last night? Let's back up and start from the beginning, please"

"We think it was combination of the pain meds, the after effects of the anesthesia, and the medication he was receiving to help with the mild case of food poisoning. Between that and his body's run down condition, everything sort of added together and knocked him for a loop. At any rate, he fell asleep, had himself one heck of a dream, and ended up on his back in the hall. We got him back in his own bed, checked to make sure nothing was torn or ripped open, and then gave him a sedative to help him sleep, and thought that was the end of it. The entire time we were getting him resettled, though, he was mumbling something about the man in the next room being in trouble, that 'they" were killing him and the guy needed help. He was still insisting on it when the sedative started to work and he faded off. All day today, I mean, he's definitely more clear-headed. But he still maintains he saw what he thinks he saw" Stevens paused. "He kept trying to call you. I think he got frustrated when you didn't call back. He's been on pins and needles waiting for one of you to get here. So be prepared"

"What about the patient in the next room? Is he alright? Not harmed?"

"That's exactly the point, Agent Sinclair. There _is_ no patient in the next room. There hasn't been for the last three days. It's been completely empty all week. It is not possible that Agent Granger saw a murder or anything else happening in there. Simply not possible. We've been trying to assure him of that all day, but he won't let it go. Maybe your visit will help."

They stepped out, with Stevens headed back to her duties and David, forewarned about the reason for Colby's agitation, went to see his friend.

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Colby pounced as soon as he stepped through the door.

"Finally! Man, I've been calling you all day! How come you didn't return any of my calls?! David, there was murder in this hospital last night! The guy in the next room was killed!" He went on to describe for Sinclair the scene he'd observed the previous night, leaving out none of the details.

David came to understand what Nurse Stevens meant by "totally made up his mind." His partner was rock solid certain that the patient in room W430 had become the victim of foul play during the prior night. Nothing David said could budge him.

"Tell me something. What was going on right before all this happened? I mean, were you sleeping, having trouble sleeping, about to page the nurse for a midnight snack, what?"

"I was...crap, okay fine, I was dreaming about the warehouse. The shootout, the fight, all of that" Granger conceded reluctantly.

"Colby, the hospital staff say there's been nobody in that room all week, man. How could there have been a killing in there when the room's been deserted?"

"I know what I saw, David. I did not dream it and I wasn't so doped up that I imagined the whole thing. I'm telling you, it happened! I've been trying to get somebody to take me serious all day! The nurses, the doctors, anybody! They keep blowing me off. I even tried taking a look myself but I'm not in good enough shape to give the room a really in-depth check. Every time I try I get one of the nurses crawling up my…they keep trying to give me a shot, telling me to calm down. Calm down! Like I'm some kind of basket case." Colby, David could see, was not just frustrated, he was starting to get angry

"Look, Colby how about this? _I'll_ go next door and give the place a close examination. I promise you I will check every crack and crevice. I will check out every inch of that room. Whatever happened, there should be some kind of evidence, right?" Colby nodded in agreement.

"So here's the deal. I'll do the whole evidence investigation thing. See what's what. Try to come up with some proof of what you say you saw. Hopefully I'll find something. But now, listen, you gotta do this for me, man. If I turn that room over, get in close, down on my and knees and check everything out real thoroughly, and I don't find anything…" he stopped Colby's interruption. "If I don't find anything, you need to accept that maybe, just maybe, the staff isn't blowing you off. That maybe it was a continuation of the dream. A very realistic continuation, but nothing more. Think about it man. You've had a rough week Colby. Come on, cut yourself a break, alright?"

"I didn't dream this, David." Colby said stubbornly, sounding a little less certain.

"Then, I'll find that out, won't I? But if I don't come up with anything…" Sinclair left the sentence unfinished,

"Yeah, yeah, if you don't find anything, I'll back off. But I know what I saw!"

A tense thirty minutes later, David came back in to find a fidgety Granger sitting in a chair, impatiently drumming his fingers on the arm. He sprang up, well got up as quickly as he could as Sinclair returned.

"Well?"

"You trust me, right?" David began.

"Come on, you know I do. Just tell me, what did you find?"

"Colby, man, that room is pristine. No blood, no signs of a struggle, nothing out of place. There's not even a sign that anybody's been in that room for several days. No sign. And I did get down on my hands and knees and eyeball everything. I checked out the bathroom, behind everything, checked the drains, under the bed, behind the bed, along the baseboards, the works. Nothing, pal. Not one thing."

Granger sat down again, heavily. "But, I, I don't understand this. I just don't understand it!" Colby was a study in baffled confusion. 'I mean, I, I, just…Uugh! he pounded a fist on the arm of the chair.

"Like I said before, you've had a twilight zone week. We've all been pushing hard lately. And then, after years of peaceful coexistence, your appendix decides to turn and attack. You've been sick, medicated up the wahzoo, operated on and exhausted. You're entitled brother. Why don't you try to get some rest and let this go. They're gonna spring you tomorrow. Once you get home, back in your own bed, surrounded by your own stuff, you won't even think about last night anymore. It was a dream. A very real dream, that's it. If it's any consolation, I don't thing you're nuts, huh? And, uh, I'm not planning on telling Don or Nikki or Liz. We can keep this between the two of us. My lips are sealed. You know, unless…" David grinned, an evil laugh emerging. "Unless you balk at getting my coffee when you get back to work!" He grinned wider.

"Get out!" Colby snapped, grinning right back. As Sinclair left, he got back into bed, still trying to make sense of the last two days. Exasperated, he shook his head, pulled the covers up, found a comfortable position and called it a night.

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Three days later, he had to admit, David had been right. Back at home, comfortable and in familiar surroundings, he was able to look on the whole incident as a bizarre dream. He almost phoned the nurses to apologize for giving them such a hard time.

"Dude" He told himself, "time to move on. Get well, get back to work"

Kerri was out of town, assisting Robin Brooks in coordinating a big multi-state RICO case with federal prosecutors in Denver. Probably wouldn't be back for at least one more day. Knowing this, and worrying over Colby like he was another son, Alan Eppes had descended on the convalescing agent with at least a week's worth of prepared meals, complete with disposable containers and reheating instructions. Colby was standing in front of his open refrigerator pondering over which to select when his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Agent Granger?! Agent Colby Granger?!" The voice sounded young, fearful and anxious.

"Yes, this is Colby Granger. Who is this?"

"You have to help me! You're the only one who believes me! Nobody else believes me! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!!! Please, please help me!"

""Hold on, hold it. Calm down, ok? You need to tell me who you are and what's going on? How can I help?"

"It's my dad! They took him. They took him right out of the hospital! And I don't know what they did with him! Where they took him! And nobody will believe me! But you will. I know you will because you saw what happened. You're the only other one who saw what happened! You have to help me! Please! Wait…No! What are you… No, no, get away from me! No! No! Help! Somebody help! Somebody HEL…"

The line went dead, a dial tone replacing the frantic pleas for assistance. Colby stared at the receiver in his hand, mind racing.

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**Author's note: Oh come on now, you knew Colby wasn't just dreaming! The plot thickens. Stay tuned! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: This is going to get very repetitious, but, of course I don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the characters. The OC's in the story are mine and on and on…**

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"I knew it!" Colby hissed under his breath as he drove. "I knew something happened in that room. Why did I let myself be talked into accepting that it was just a dream? I knew it! I knew it was real!" He pounded the steering wheel, angry at himself for what was now probably wasted time.

After receiving the distraught, ominously terminated phone call he'd considered several options. One, which he discarded almost immediately, was that this was someone's idea of an elaborate practical joke. Somebody who knew of his experience at the hospital and the kind of reception his insistence that it all really took place had received. No, he decided, the call wasn't a joke. Dealing with many people under stress over the years, Colby figured he could tell by now when he was hearing the real thing. There was nothing phony about the anguish of that call. The patient in room W430 was the victim of a kidnapping, not a murder, at least not for certain a murder yet. Maybe two kidnappings by now, he reminded himself. Whoever the caller was, they hadn't hung up voluntarily. They hadn't called back either. Quite possibly, he ruminated grimly, because they were unable to.

Whatever the reason was, he would not waste any more time. Some unknown person, probably more than one, was in serious trouble, and right at this moment, Colby was the only one who had a clue about it. He had to do something, to at least try to help.

The first thread he pulled, the telephone call, went nowhere. Having the call traced revealed that it originated from a payphone nowhere near him. If his mystery contact was unable to do so again against their will, he couldn't wait for that to change. As he dressed gingerly, he considered his next move. He locked down his initial impulse, to contact David, Don or one of his other teammates. David was firmly convinced that it was all the by-product of an anesthesia and medication fueled dream. Persuading him, or any of rest of the team otherwise was going to require proof. Besides, they were all working a live criminal investigation. Pulling them away from it to chase the nebulous likelihood of one was not something Colby was prepared to attempt. So, for now, he was on his own, sore and less than one hundred percent though he was. Finished dressing, he hunted down his badge, ID and, after some deliberation, his gun and cuffs. Better to have and not need and all that. He was ready.

Plan B hit a snag right away. Room W430 had a new occupant. Colby eased open the door, after having taken pains to slip onto the floor unobserved, only to find an elderly gentlemen snoozing away in bed. A younger person, looking enough like the old man to be his son, snored softly in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs provided for visitors.

As he was mulling over Plan C, Nurse Diane Stevens came into view. She was just beginning her working hours with the shift change. Her mouth widened, shocked to see her former patient standing fifteen feet away.

"Why, Mr., I mean, Agent Granger, what brings you here?" She seemed acutely flustered. Her apparent distress at seeing him again triggered Colby's chase reflex. The look he returned to her was one that would have been recognizable to any one of the suspects or reluctant witnesses ending up on the wrong end of one of Granger's interrogations. He pinned her to the spot with his verdant glare.

"Nurse Stevens" his chill not-quite-a-smile conveying a message that the next few moments would likely be not very enjoyable for her, "Let's talk"

"I, I really can't Agent. I have patients to attend to, duties to take care of." She made a move to go round him. He blocked her.

"I'm afraid your patients and 'duties' are gonna have to cool their jets." His tone brooked no debate. "You got some 'splainin to do, Lucy. Right now. You can do it here, or you can do it down at the Bureau offices after I place you under arrest for obstruction. (He was bluffing, but she didn't know that) those are your choices. And neither is subject to negotiation." He paused, eyeing her in his most intimidating manner, "Limited time offer. Tick…tock"

Diane Stevens was a terrific RN but she'd make a lousy poker player. He watched a series of emotions flicker across her face in the span of about twenty seconds, finally settling on resignation. She looked down the hall and then pointed in the direction of the common quiet room that was the sight of her conversation with David Sinclair earlier in the week.

Once they were inside, she turned to face him. "You have to understand, Agent Granger. They told us, that is, it was explained to all of us that…well, we, the staff here, we had to say what we did! It's a matter of _national security!_ Gravest importance. That's what we were all told! We didn't have a choice! _I _didn't have a choice! It's not right that any of us, any of the personnel in this hospital should be caught in the middle of this thing! That's not fair! We're only doing what we're supposed to do! What we were _instructed _to do! And say! And now, you want to arrest me! That's just not fair!" She was on the verge of tears.

Colby squelched the voice in his head yammering that he was a first class cad for making the nice nurse lady cry and pressed on. He could apologize after he got to the bottom of whatever was going on.

"Hit the reverse button for a second. _Who _told you _what_ was a matter of national security? I need details, Nurse Stevens, the more the better. You can start with the who and work your way up to the whole national security part. Come on, give."

"Homeland Security" she breathed the words out in a whisper, angry now. Her upset lent her a measure of boldness. "The Department of Homeland Security. When Dr. Gerrard was admitted, they told us it was critically important that it be kept under wraps. That under _no_ circumstances were any of us to acknowledge he was being treated here. Two of their agents talked to all of the staff that had a hand in Dr. Gerrard's care. They made sure we understood how vital it was that his presence be kept completely secret. That even if someone, no matter who it was, asked, we couldn't admit anything! So you see, we were only following instructions!"

"Dr. Gerrard?" Colby prodded.

"Yes, Dr. Conrad Gerrard. He's a prominent scientist. A _government_ scientist. His work is in bio-weapons research. They didn't get more specific than that. Just that what he does is very important in the war on terror. He checked in two days before you arrived. Supposedly some kind of heart related illness, but I never bought that from the beginning. Someone with heart problems should have been admitted to our coronary care unit. I think it was just more nervous exhaustion. The poor man was so tightly wound, so worried. Aside from the Homeland Security people there was also the request from his wife to think about" Stevens stopped, more calm now.

"His wife?"

"Yes, Mrs. Alison Gerrard. Mrs. Alison _Lucern_ Gerrard."

"Is her name meant to have some sort of special significance?" Granger was puzzled.

'Oh, honestly. I thought you were an FBI agent! How could you not know about the Lucern's. The family is extremely prominent. Considerably influential. They advise governments! Plural! The kind of people they rub shoulders with run the world. Not to mention their financial and real estate holdings!"

"Okay, Okay, I get it. The wife is American royalty. She asked you to keep her husband's admission hush-hush too?"

Stevens nodded. "So when you went into his room that night, she was very distressed. So much so that she insisted he be moved that very night! Which I supposed was done while myself and Kathy Ramos were busy seeing to you after your fall. When we went into Dr. Gerrard's room to check on him, he was gone!"

"You didn't have any problem with that? The sudden disappearance of a patient in the middle of the night is normal for you?" Colby shook his head disbelievingly.

"I told you, that was at Mrs. Gerrard and the Homeland Security personnel's insistence!"

"Nurse Stevens, are you sure the 'Homeland Security' agents were the genuine article?"

"Well, of course I am. They had the proper identification. And I hope you aren't about to suggest that Mrs. Gerrad was a fraud also. Rest assured, even if you have no idea what she looks like, the staff of this hospital does. Why our administrator is a friend of hers. I believe they serve on some of the same boards. I have done nothing wrong, Agent Granger. I insist you allow me to go back to work." Stevens stubbornly crossed her arms, still rattled.

Colby absently stepped aside to let the woman pass, already focused on the implications of the info he'd received. Whatever Stevens and her colleagues believed, Gerrard's exit from St. Ambrose that night was anything but voluntary or gentle. And hardly at the promptings of a loving spouse. He had not witnessed a murder or a patient being peacefully relocated, he'd seen an attempted abduction. Which had been competed later, obviously. Problem was, at the moment, he had no way to prove it. Despite his bluster, he really had no leverage or way to induce Nurse Stevens or any of the other hospital personnel to tell the truth about what actually happened. Also, if the Lucern family was as well connected as Diane Stevens implied, they could simply ignore any requests for cooperation. Or worse, make serious trouble for any one digging too deep or looking too closely. All the while, Gerrard and his son (?), Colby's mysterious caller, would be no better off and maybe worse. His somber musings were interrupted by Stevens "ahem". He turned.

"I can go now, right? I'm not in any trouble?" She acted as if she was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Alright you heel, he berated himself silently, time to let this poor woman off the hook. "Yes, you can go. And you, none of you, is in any trouble. You haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry if I upset you. And you're a dynamite nurse."

Her "thanks" was thrown over one shoulder as she fled the room with relief, leaving Colby alone.

He was back in his truck headed for home when his cell rang. Oops. Caller ID told him it was David. Busted.

"Granger."

"Don't you 'Granger' me!" David's furious baritone barked. "Where are you?! And don't say at home, because I'm sitting on your couch right now courtesy of your building manager who happens to know what good friends we are! You're supposed to be recovering from surgery, Colby, not driving around town!"

"I can explain" Colby told his friend, trying to placate him.

"Oh, believe me, you're about to! Am I an idiot for hoping you're on your way here?"

"I should be pulling up in about ten minutes." Colby answered.

"I'll be here!" David's call cut off in Granger's ear.

Whoopee. Well, might as well get it over with. Getting yelled at by your best buddy was a lot like ripping off a bandage. If you could ride out the first few minutes, the sting started to fade.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Ok, here we go one more time. Don't own any part of Num3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. Something else for the David fans in the next two chapters. Colby's at home behaving himself (how long can that last, huh?) **

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Running a tired hand over his close shaven head, David Sinclair rose and walked around, limbering up knotted muscles. Trapped at his desk for the better part of the day, he took a break from pouring over Amir Sahar's financial info, what little there was of it that he could follow. Charlie would've been in numerical heaven. Sahar's complex machinations made Machiavelli look like a third grader. It was times like this he missed Colby being around. Granger could really sink his teeth into an electronic trail. This part of being an agent, tedious computer digging, drove David bonkers.

It didn't help that his focus was split. David was good at his job but trying to track two difficult to find people at the same time was taxing his skills to the limit. Sandwiched in between his computer searches relating to Sahar was the quest for Dr. Conrad Gerrard. For an egghead government scientist, the good doctor did a pretty good Casper imitation. The inquiries David put out during the course of the day netted exactly nothing. What's more, his reception in a couple of places, from persons he'd worked with in the past, received an odd reception. Not cold, just…awkward. As if the inquiries made his old friends uncomfortable. What was the big deal anyway? He was only trying to find the guy, not spirit him away to be auctioned off to the highest foreign bidder.

Gerrard's field of expertise was in bio-weapons research, specifically, counter agents. Due to the nature of his work, Conrad Gerrard had a "top secret" security clearance. Still, David held a fairly respectable clearance level of his own. Putting the arm on one bespectacled biochemist shouldn't be this difficult.

"I don't know about anybody else, but if I don't get something to eat, it's about to get ugly around here." Nikki Bentancourt interrupted David's train of thought.

"Pizza?" Liz countered.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a place where somebody comes to my table and utters the words "may I take you order please?" Nikki told her.

'Oh" Liz said. "You mean eat food that doesn't come wrapped in paper? people still do that? One of you is gonna have to walk me thru it. I'm not sure I remember how." She was only half kidding.

"Agent Warner" Don said, joining the group, "the crappy hours and fast food diet are part of the FBI mystique."

"Yeah? Well, last night I had a dream where I was being chased down the street by a giant hamburger that was trying to eat _me_!" Liz shot back.

"Tell you what" Eppes told his team. "How 'bout I spring for dinner? I'll even pop for real dishes and flatware. You can name the place." Don sat back, relishing the looks of astonishment on his agent's faces. Dinner at Charlie's was one thing, but this was…none of them was sure what to call this.

"Uh, Don, did you hit your head or something? Are you ok? Do you have a fever?" Liz asked.

"Ha, ha and ha" Don retorted. "Just make up you minds where you want to go, all of you. And hurry up. I could change my mind any second now ."

David, not really part of the conversation, found his attention drifting to the TV. He nearly dropped the bottle of water he was sipping as he read the caption at the bottom of the screen. A file photo of Conrad Gerrard accompanied the featured news bite.

'_Prominent scientist to speak at global anti-terror conference'_ the reporter relaying the story droned on unheard as Sinclair tried to adjust to what he was seeing. He was totally confused. He'd been doing his best to root out something on Gerrard for the better part of two days and now the guy turns up at a conference? A featured speaker? Well, whatever else had happened, the man certainly wasn't missing. At least not anymore, was he? And what about the kid? David spun around and picked up the phone. Before he could dial Colby's number, Don asked "What about you, David? What do you feel like? Italian? Asian? Tex-Mex?"

"Uh" David answered, his brain still trying to process two situations at once, "Anything's fine with me. I gotta check my wallet though. May have to hit the ATM." His years with the Bureau left him leery of allowing some unknown waiter to spirit his credit card from sight. He resumed his attempt to call Granger.

"David, Don is paying. No ATM visits necessary" Nikki put in.

Sinclair paused mid-dial. "Huh? What? Don's buying? How'd I miss that!?"

"That's it, you're all fired" Don commented, standing up and grabbing his jacket in anticipation of the cool L.A. night. "I and my generosity will be leaving now. Anybody who wants to eat better get it in gear." He walked away, Nikki and Liz following, trying not to laugh. David cradled the receiver, donning his own jacket. He would have to call Colby later. Definitely.

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Fettuccini pasta, butter, shrimp, cloves, parmesan cheese, parsley. Kerri was mentally reviewing what she would need to create one of Colby's favorite dishes, shrimp fettuccini Alfredo. A Caesar salad to go with. Something very light for dessert. Fresh strawberries. Umm, yeah, Colby loved strawberries. What to drink? Hmm. To go with the meal, probably a nice Sauvignon blanc. But for after, her man's favorite beer. Colby loved the fact that she was a gourmet cook, but one of the things _she _loved about him was that he was a cold beer man. As far as the dessert after dessert was concerned…she had a few ideas about that as well. They might have to go slow and easy because of his recovery, but that could end up being a LOT of fun. Kerri chuckled to herself. Look out, Granger. Be seein' ya, baby.

Jackson Lucern watched as Kerri Walton headed for the elevator, smiling to herself. No doubt, contemplating the evening ahead with her fed boyfriend. Dinner, drinks and lots of whispered sweet nothings. He wondered if she planned on spreading her legs for the guy later. Probably. She was like all women. Using sex to manipulate men. Schooling his features into a mask of indifference, he rushed to join her as the elevator arrived and she stepped into it.

Wonderful, Kerri thought. Ok girl. Deep cleansing breath. In about ten seconds, you are going to be out of this box and on your way to Colby. Jack Lucern does not, repeat, does not matter. They traveled in silence, Kerri studiously ignoring the sideways glances he was shooting in her direction. Controlling a sigh of relief with effort, she exited as soon as the doors opened, exposing the street level lobby. Not a big fan of parking garages, Kerri preferred to leave her car in the open lot directly adjacent to the building. Well lit and guarded twenty-four hours a day, she felt more secure going and coming. Occupied with fishing for the keys to her Venza, she didn't realize Jack was behind her until he spoke.

"You're in a bit of a hurry. Big plans?" His manner was oily, knowing.

"Jack, I'm not having this discussion with you again. Good night." Kerri turned away.

"You could be eating breakfast tomorrow morning in Rome with me, you know. I could have us both there by midnight."

"Do you have a hearing problem? Are you slow or just a stubborn glutton for punishment? Good night, Jack." Kerri growled out this last thru gritted teeth. Jack Lucern would not be allowed to ruin her evening with Colby.

Jackson's anger exploded. Time to come down off your high horse, whore. He stepped close so there that were only a couple of inches space between them.

"You might want to seriously consider being nicer to me. Have

more…respect and consideration for my feelings. You might even enjoy it. I could give you things, take you places, show you a world of luxury and privilege this blue collar boyfriend of yours can't begin to touch. We could have a very good time together." He reached out, cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her roughly.

Kerri's eyes flashed dangerously. She took a step back, dropped her briefcase and jacket, cocked a fist and whacked Jackson Lucern square in his blue-blooded nose. Bright red blood spurted from the offended area.

"Don't you ever touch me again! As a matter of fact, don't even talk to me! I'm speaking to Roger in the morning. You just crossed the line, and I'm not going to put up with it anymore. No more!" She retrieved her belongings and began to move away.

"Don't you turn your back on me!" Mopping his bloodied nose with a white linen pocket square, he moved quickly, getting in front of her. Before she could say anything else, he grabbed her by the arm, dragging her behind a nearby SUV. She tried to pry herself loose, but his grip was too tight.

"I'm done being pleasant about this! I get what I want and what I want is you!"

With an extra burst of anger impelled strength, she broke his hold. "You're done Jack! By the time I'm done talking to Roger, not only will you not have a job, but you're going to need an attorney! Unlike yourself, a good one! I intend to have you up before the bar association! I can't be the only one that's had it up to here with you!"

"That won't be happening. There'll be no talk with Roger, no bar association hearing, and no getting me fired! You and I are going to get to know each other a lot better. And when I say "know" I do mean in the most 'biblical' sense of the word, sweet thing."

"What kind of sick fantasy world do you inhabit?! I will never be with you! You turn my stomach, Jack."

"You'll feel differently in time. But even if you don't, that really doesn't matter. You _will _come to me. And you and I _will _be together. I'm very certain. A relationship between us is very much in both our futures. I can guarantee it's going to happen."

"Really?! And exactly how do you plan to accomplish this, Jack? Seeing as how the sight of you makes me want to puke?!"

He drew back, the look in his eyes making her frightened. "Because, princess" Jackson smiled cruelly, "I know your dirty little secret!" he finished in a sing-songy childish voice.

"What are you smoking? I don't have any dirty little secrets, you misogynistic pig!" Kerri had had enough. Time to go see Colby.

He prevented her again. "Oh, but you do, don't you? And I know what it is." Alarmingly, he got so close their bodies actually touched, forcing her against the side of the SUV. He leaned down and whispered into her ear. The words were the stuff of her nightmares. Impossible! How had he found out!? How!? How could he know this!? She stood frozen to the spot as he regarded her with a proprietary smirk, watching the color drain from her face.

In a vulgar gesture, he pawed one breast, toying with the tip obscenely. His touch galvanized her.

She slapped his hand away. Planting both hands in his chest, she pushed him as far away from her as she could. She tried to turn away from him but he moved faster and caught her hand twisting her arm behind her painfully, eerily reminiscent of the garage incident months before. He began forcing her forward. Disgustingly, he traced a line from neck to ear with his tongue.

"Guess what, princess? I make it a special point to park as close as I can to you every morning. Let's go for a ride! You're gonna blow off loverboy. Me, you're just gonna blow!"

Kerri dug in her heels and tried to resist but his greater body weight and strength worked against her. No matter how hard she fought, he propelled her in the direction of his black Lexus.

Abruptly, so quickly she nearly lost her footing, the pressure on her arm went away as he released her. Another strong hand helped steady her. Kerri looked up to see two of the lot's uniformed personnel, one holding her up. The other man had Jack pinned, face against the security fence.

"You alright, Ms. Walton?" he asked as he kept Lucern firmly melded to the tight wire links.

Massaging the painful shoulder, Kerri nodded. "I'm fine. Thank you. You guys have great timing." Trembling some with reaction, she regained control.

Jack was cursing, threatening. " Do you have any idea who I am?!"

"Yeah, someone who's committing assault! Ms. Walton, you pressing charges?"

Lucern managed to turn his head enough to glare a warning. One Kerri knew she couldn't afford to ignore.

" Not now." She could tell the guards were surprised by the answer. "I…I'll be taking the matter up with our boss in the morning. Listen, co…could you guys…could you keep him here until I leave? I don't want him following me."

At their nods of assent, she grabbed her briefcase and jacket from the asphalt lot once more, and, with a final thanks, headed two rows up to her car. Once inside, unseen, she collapsed against the steering wheel resting her forehead on both hands. It took a minute to still her shakes, but she finally felt composed enough to start the engine and drive away. Passing the three men, she saw Jackson Lucern's face was red with impotent rage, and his body language promised retribution.

Jack watched as Kerri Walton's vehicle disappeared from view. If she believed this was the end of it, she would soon find out how mistaken that belief was. He was confident her threats about Kendall and the bar association were idle. There was no way she would risk being exposed. No, she could wriggle and turn all she liked, but eventually, she would have to accept that she had no more room to maneuver. Then he would have her. However he wanted, whenever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. Giving the guards a contemptuous final sneer, he went his own car.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: By now you know what to expect but I have to do this anyway because I've grown sort of attached to my few pitiful belongings. ** **I don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. OC's in the story are mine. ** **Here's no. 9. **

David checked his watch. Eleven-thirty p.m. After the day I've had, why am I not in bed? he asked himself. Because now you need to get to the truth as much as Colby does, his self shot back. Because you know you were right when you told Granger there was too much smoke for there not to be a fire close enough to spit on around here somewhere. Because you're too much of an FBI agent to let all the questions running around inside your head go unanswered. Pick one. Whatever the reason, it was answer time. He knocked on the door in front of him. He could hear movement inside the hotel room. Holding up his ID so his badge was visible, he waited. After an interval of about thirty seconds, the door swung open and Sinclair stood face to face with Dr. Conrad Gerrard. Five ten, one fifty, brown hair, black horned rimmed glasses. Mr. Average.

"Dr. Conrad Gerrard? I'm special agent David Sinclair, FBI. May I come in?"

"FBI? What does the FBI want with me?" he blocked the entrance, not allowing Sinclair inside. Though Gerrard tried to hide it, David could tell he was far from happy about a visit from the FBI.

"May I come in?" Sinclair repeated politely. Using a trick picked up over the years, he leaned forward as if he were about to take a step. Automatically, the other man moved back, and, unthinkingly, stepped aside, allowing David to enter the room.

"What, what does the, I mean, I don't understand why you're here?"

"I'm here because you're here, doctor. I'm kinda curious about something. A few days ago you were in the hospital, right?" Gerrard nodded. "How are you feeling? Everything come out fine?" Sinclair waited.

"I don't see how my health could possibly be of any concern to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Is it a crime now to be admitted to the hospital?"

"No" Sinclair responded, "No, being in the hospital's still perfectly legal. But, uh, you didn't answer my question."

Gerrard seemed to be getting agitated. "I don't have to. My medical condition is my own business. Now, I insist you tell me the real reason you're here. I have a very important speech to make tomorrow. I need my rest. I can't be needlessly upset this way!"

" I apologize, Doctor. It's not my intention to upset you. One of our agents was hospitalized at the same time you were. He says he witnessed somebody trying to kidnap you right out of your hospital bed." The extremely interesting reaction laid to rest any lingering question about the veracity of Colby's claims. If the doc was any jumpier, David thought, the man would be chasing his own skin down the plush hotel corridor.

"That has to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! Obviously, I've not been kidnapped! What kind of people is the FBI hiring these days?! I don't know what this man imagines he saw, but I assure you, there was no kidnap attempt that night! I'm perfectly fine. Now, I wish you to leave. As I said before, I have an important speech to make tomorrow, and I need my rest! Please go!" Gerrard's voice and hands both shook. He refused to look David in the eye, preferring to focus anywhere but on the agent.

"Doctor…" Sinclair began, but got no further.

"I said I want you to leave! Right this minute! I insist on it! I haven't done anything wrong. I demand you leave me in peace! I have nothing else to say to you!" He clasped his hands together in an effort to control his tremors, still unable to meet David's gaze.

"Doctor Gerrard" David tried again, "if you're in some kind of trouble, we can help. But you have to trust us. You have to let us help you."

"I told you, I'm fine. Nothing is wrong! I don't need any help from the FBI or anyone else! I just want to be left alone! Now get out of my hotel room! Either you leave right this moment or I'll find out the name of your supervisor and have your badge!"

"Calm down doctor. I'm going. But, um, let me leave you my card, alright?" Sinclair reached into his pocket for one of his embossed cards. "If you change your mind about that help…"

"I've already told you, I don't need any help! Now get out!" Gerrard was vibrating with anxiety as he jerked the door open.

Ten seconds later, Sinclair was staring at the opposite side of that door as it closed behind him with an audible click. Well, for certain something was up with the doc. David hadn't mentioned the time of the attempted abduction. Gerrard had slipped just a bit. Once outside, he claimed his car from the hotel's valet service, finally heading for home. He was so beat he never noticed the two men in the sedan keeping a set distance behind.

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Kerri rested inside the cocoon of Colby's arms in the peaceful nighttime of his bedroom, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. She hadn't understood how much she'd missed him during the two weeks she and Robin Brooks were in Denver until their carefully passionate reunion tonight. Feeling his body spooned around her did a lot to settle her jangled nerves after her run-in with Jack Lucern.

She turned her head slightly staring into the darkness, but seeing the malignancy on Lucern's face as she drove away. Jack's ugly threat festered in the back of her mind. He intended to blackmail her into sleeping with him. Never. The thought made her physically ill. _And just how are you going to stop him? What are you going to do about it? _ She lay there, unable to sleep, mind churning. There had to be a way out. Try as she might, she could only think of one. Only one way to keep Jack from blowing her life right out of the water. From ruining her career, the life she had built for herself here in L. A. and most important of all, her relationship with Colby. It was a horrible risk, and just might cost everything she sought to protect. But there was no choice. Kerri turned in bed, laying her head, body and arm across Colby's chest as he shifted position on to his back. The move awakened him, and he raised himself up on one elbow, looking down at her, voice filled with concern.

"Baby, tell me what's bothering you. I know something is. Let me help. There's nothing you can't tell me, honey. You gotta know that by now." He'd known something was off the moment she arrived that night. He could see the shadow behind her beautiful jade eyes, though she tried hard to conceal it. Rather than coax it out of her, Colby wanted to let Kerri work up to telling him about it in her own time and way. She had him worried. Something was hurting her. That infuriated him, Made him want to find whatever it was and crush it barehanded. He hadn't told her yet, but Colby knew he was in love with this woman. There was nothing he would not do to protect her, but he couldn't unless he knew what he was fighting.

"I'm okay. Really. Don't worry. It's just...it was a really…rough day at work. I had…it was just a really rough day, that's all. Being here with you, it's what I needed." She nestled against him again, resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She couldn't. Not yet.

Colby felt some of the tenseness fade as she relaxed, finally nodding off. His last thought before sleep claimed him once more was that he would do anything to make her feel safe. He had to find a way to convince her of that.

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David clung tenaciously to the boom end of the huge hammerhead crane, arms and legs fiercely entwined in the metal latticework. Do not look down, do not look down, DO NOT LOOK DOWN! He repeated the mantra over and over. The gigantic apparatus vibrated with the swirling breezes.

"David, we're on the way!" Don's voice sounded breathlessly in his ear. "Don't go anywhere!"

"Believe me Don, I got nothing better to do at the moment! I'll just hang around until you get here!"

"Not funny, Sinclair! Leave the one-liners to Granger! We're almost to you! I'm bringing somebody who knows how to operate that thing. We're going to have to swing it around, and, uh, lower the boom!"

"Oh, come on Don! That's not fair! You tell me to lay off the one-liners and then shoot that past me!"

"Yeah, well, I'd tell you to get a grip, but I'm a better man than that!"

David's pained groan came thru loud and very clear thru Don's Bluetooth earpiece.

"How did I get myself into this mess?" he wondered aloud. Granger was the guy always making like a stunt double. He, David, recently promoted relief supervisor that he was, was supposed to be the sober, rational, by the book half of the two. "Man, Colby is never going to let me live this one down."

He heard Don speaking again. "We're here David! It's gonna start moving back towards the building now! Grab on to that thing like you plan to propose! Here goes!"

With a huge creaking sound, the mechanics of the massive machine began to grind and move, changing angle and direction, with David Sinclair helplessly along for the ride. In the distance, a hovering black dot drew closer.

TWELVE HOURS EARLIER

If he'd known he was going to end up hugging the end of a construction crane seventy feet above the ground the next day, Sinclair would have paid more attention to the traffic behind him as he left Gerrard's hotel. Instead, he paid enough attention not to leave tire treads up some pedestrian's backside for as long as it took to get home and pour himself into bed. Calling Colby tomorrow so they could bring each other up to speed was the last thing that ran thru his head.

Downstairs in the parking lot of David's building, his two watchers saw the light go out.

"Sinclair's back at his place" one of the men informed their employer. "But he definitely spoke to Dr. Gerrard."

"You have the disc of the conversation?" came the clipped demand.

"Of course" equally clipped response.

"Stay where you are for the time being. Someone is being sent to relieve you." Lessons had been learned from the disastrous series of events involving the late, ill-starred Keith. "Once they are onsite, bring the disc to me."

"Yes." The man tried to say more but found there was no longer anyone on the other end.

"Great" Barney Craig said acidly to his brother Bob, the other man in the car. "First the hospital job almost turns into a big steaming pile, now we gotta dodge the Bureau. Watch, anything goes wrong, it'll be our fault, I just know it."

"Stop whining. We did nearly blow it at the hospital. I tried to tell you we shoulda did it different, but you wanted to go all black bag commando on me. Now here we are. So let's get the job done right and maybe we can get out from under babysitting duty." Nothing was going to happen tonight anyway. The dude was in bed sleeping. Like I should be, Bob reflected sourly. He sulked, indulging in a healthy dose of self pity. Working with his brother, sometimes it was all Bob could do not to shoot him.

Slumping down in the passenger seat he groused, " wake me up when they get here" then closed his eyes and corked off.

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Unlike both David Sinclair and his crabby, unknown escort, Dr. Conrad Gerrard was one hundred percent wide awake. The expensive maroon, blue and turquoise pattern of the carpeting ebbed and flowed under his feet as he paced the floor of his hotel suite, the "very important" speech he was scheduled to present at the conference the next morning totally forgotten. Gerrard's mind was on his son, and the possible consequences that interference from the FBI might have on the boy's welfare. Under no illusions, he was certain his wife, Alison and her sometime lover and full time controller, Amir Sahar already knew of the agent's visit. Conrad had phoned her, desperate to convince Alison that he'd done nothing to prompt the FBI's coming to speak with him. Her frigid attitude following his explanations filled him with fear for Christopher.

"We'll see." Alison Lucern Gerrard told her husband. "We'll listen to your little 'audience' with the agent, then decide. I'm sure you love your son far too much to be so foolish, but we'll see."

Head in hands, Conrad Gerrard sank down on to the sofa, racked with anxiety. Over the last two years, he'd complied with every demand made of him by Alison and Sahar, however distasteful. But what now? If what the two heard did not satisfy them, would they make Christopher suffer for it? Already taken away from him to a location unknown to Conrad, would they withhold the precious periodic injections required to keep his son from succumbing to the poison the child had been given to ensure his father's cooperation. The antidote only Amir Sahar could supply? Please let them be convinced, he prayed. Gerrard knew his only child's life lay on the line.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Another chapter, another disclaimer. I don't own any part **

**Of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. Oc's are mine. Yawn. **

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Sahar listened impassively to the recording of the conversation between David Sinclair and Conrad Gerrard. Alison Gerrard sat drumming her fingers nervously on the lacquered surface of her antique French writing desk as she awaited his reaction. To her ears, her husband sounded flustered and evasive. How would he sound to Amir, bound to be a much harsher judge? The only saving grace, as far as she could tell, was that Conrad had disclosed nothing to the agent. If that would be enough to satisfy Sahar, Alison was about to find out. He turned away from the marbled fireplace mantel.

"Contact your staff. Have them administer the boy's next scheduled injection. I don't consider the doctor to have committed an infraction of our agreement."

Alison tried to hide her relief. She didn't love her stepson, but she didn't hate him either. And he was after all, only a child. Young Christopher didn't deserve what was happening to him. Unfortunately, as Conrad's son, he was the perfect tool to use against his father. Pity.

" Do nothing tonight. Appearances need to be preserved. Tomorrow your husband must be returned here. That will ensure no further unauthorized contact."

"But, his speech, the conference…" Alison began.

"Will not be a problem. He will suddenly be taken ill. See to it" Sahar instructed with finality and then left without another word. Alison picked up the phone.

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"You saw him? Spoke to him?" Colby asked the next morning. "I mean, he didn't seem…"

"That's just it" David returned, "he _did_ seem. Jumpy, defensive, guilty. All of the above. About what, I don't have a clue, but something. I tried to get him to talk to me, but whatever going on, Gerrard's too scared to give anything up. He's supposed to give some big speech today. I'll try again later. Right now, I've got to pay some attention to the case I'm _supposed _to beworking on. What about you? Anything turn up on Alison Gerrard? "

"Huh, better question would be, what didn't. Talk about busy. David, this woman's landed on more shores than the United States Marines. Her good deeds could paper a cathedral, but, well, something smells, you know? I get this wonky vibe coming off her."

"How so?" Sinclair asked.

'I don't know man. For one thing, she's got some really interesting friends, some of whom have shown up on watch lists. And I don't like the way trouble for our people, especially in the war zones, follows her and her 'humanitarian' causes around."

"You think she's sleeping with the enemy?"

"Not sure I'm ready to go that far, yet. But I might be soon. I'll keep looking."

"Yeah, me too" David told him, pulling into the parking garage. "I'll check back later, let you know if I have any better luck with Gerrard."

"Do that. I'll tell ya, if I thought I could get away with it, I'd be back to work today! The walls are starting to close in, you know?"

Oh no, you don't, Sinclair thought. "Down! Sit! Stay!" Giving Colby no chance to respond, David ended the call, shaking his head at Granger's impatience. The same qualities that made Colby a good partner and a good FBI agent also made him detest enforced down time. Sinclair slipped his phone into a pocket as the bull-pen came in sight.

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"Keith Simmons" Don greeted Sinclair by handing him a manila folder. Inside was a booking photo and info on the late Keith, former junior partner to Clarence and Prometheus to Colby Granger's F-150.

"This was the guy we chased. Broke in to Colby's place, torched his truck" Eppes further explained.

David examined the picture then reviewed the info. "What was this guy doing in Colby's apartment? I mean, Colby says nothing's missing or out of place." He shook his head, mystified. "Not much here" he continued, referring to the file.

"Yeah, I know. And for somebody who's had as many problems with the law as this one, you'd think there would be a lot more. Morning."

"Morning boss, David." Nikki Bentancourt responded in greeting.

"What I'd really like to find out" Don continued, "is how does a guy with his track record, including a dishonorable discharge from the Navy, blow thru the light and snag a paying gig with a major player like Global ProtectX."

The private security firm Don named was well known in law enforcement circles. Not always in a good way, but well known. Contracts in both Iraq and Afghanistan, not to mentions various other hot spots on the map secured a certain reputation for the company. Their methods tended to be detrimental to innocent bystanders unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire. On the other hand, many of their clients both government and civilian, backed them staunchly, declaring Global ProtectX the best in the business.

Don raised a good point, considered Sinclair. How does a zero like Keith Simmons end up on the payroll of such a company?

"Even better, hey Liz." Don nodded at Liz Warner's arrival. "Even better, imagine how intrigued I was to discover that Global ProtectX is wholly owned, albeit thru about a dozen layers of legal and corporate insulation, by none other than the Lucern family." Don paused, allowing the significance of his last statement to register with David Sinclair.

"Um, could I ask a question?" Nikki put in, "Who is the Lucern family? What do they have to do with anything? I thought we were after Amir Sahar."

"Would you like to field that one Agent Sinclair, or maybe you want to get Granger on the line first?" Don nearly burst out laughing at the comically guilty look on David's face. After a few seconds, Sinclair finally spoke.

"You know?" was all he could manage.

Don rolled his chair over so that he was side by side with Sinclair. "I work for the FBI" he said in an exaggerated stage whisper. He sat back, grinning openly at the other man's sheepish expression.

"We, that is, I was going to tell you. I wanted to have more to bring to you first. This isn't a snipe hunt, Don. There really is a case here. And I'm not letting it interfere with Sahar. Frankly, I'm surprised you're not pissed, what with me trying to work two separate cases at the same time."

"David." Don said, figuring Sinclair had squirmed long enough. "I'm not sure they are two separate cases." He reached behind him and plucked another folder from his own desk. "That financial trail you put Liz and Nikki on the other day has some rather interesting landmarks along the way. He handed the folder to David. "Check out page ten."

David checked out page ten, read for a couple of minutes, raising his head to stare incredulously at Don.

"Sahar hires Global ProtectX to ride shotgun on his arms deals?!"

"Not all of 'em, but yeah, a few times. Small world, huh?"

"Yeah, listen, could we put that on pause right now? How did you find out I was helping Colby with the whole Gerrard thing?"

"Huh, Colby?" Liz interrupted. "The Lucern family I've heard of. They were involved in a case I worked on before L.A., but I don't understand how they figure in. And who is Gerrard, and, since I'm asking, I thought Colby was on medical leave. Exactly how much have I missed here?" She felt like she was playing catch up, as did Nikki.

Between the two of them, Eppes and Sinclair gave the ladies the cliffsnotes version of the last nine days, including Colby's eventful hospital stay and the mysterious phone call, and since they now knew the truck fire/break-in and subsequent chase was a part of it all, threw that in too.

"Since everybody's on the same page now, Liz, you and Nikki need to have a long talk with the Mrs. David, you and I are going have another go at her husband. Let's get moving, people."

"You never answered my question, Don" David asked as they got into the elevator. "How _did_ you twig to my checking out Gerrard? I was really trying to stay under your radar with it." Sinclair was determined to satisfy his curiosity.

" For one thing, those feelers you put out around the intelligence community sent up a lot of red flags, which, as your fearless leader, wound up getting waved in my face. Evidently, the doctor is about to have his security clearance revoked" Don told him.

"What?! Why?"

"With his job and area of expertise, not to mention his access to certain information, some of his activities in the last few months are making a lot of people nervous, that's why. He's got much more to explain than the hospital. And this time, no tantrums allowed" Don said, keying the ignition.

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Maneuvering the FBI issue sedan as far as the estate's ornate wrought iron gate, complete with stylized "L", Liz noticed, she watched as Nikki pressed an intercom button designed to announce visitors.

"Yes?" a disembodied, tinny voice emerged from the speaker.

"FBI. We're here to speak to Mrs. Alison Gerrard" Bentancourt answered, holding up her identification. There didn't appear to be a video companion to the intercom system, but both agents assumed they were being monitored visually as well. Quiet reigned for the next thirty seconds, then the huge gate slowly slid open soundlessly. Fifty feet of red paving stone later, Warner stopped the car in front of a flight of a half dozen wide stone steps leading up to an oak and leaded glass door. She and Liz were admitted by a silent woman dressed, of course, sniffed Nikki, in a maid's black and white uniform, who ushered them into what appeared to be a sitting room. Taking a good look around, Nikki spotted at least two Remington sculptures and other art work on the walls, any one of which she would be willing to bet was both genuine and worth more than she could expect to earn if her career with the Bureau extended into her nineties (before FICA and Social Security).Taking a step, her foot sunk deeply into the oriental rug, causing a ripple in the rich fabric.

"Must be nice to be them" she muttered soto-voiced to her partner

Whatever Liz's response would have been was cut off when a tall, expensively tailored man entered the room, dentally enhanced perfect white artificial smile firmly in place. Not one of the ash blonde hairs on his hundred dollar hair cut head was out of place. He oozed elegant charisma. Liz disliked him instantly.

"Hello, ladies. I'm Jackson Lucern. I'm afraid I will have to suffice as host. My sister is not in at the moment. Please sit down, and tell me how I may be of assistance to the Federal Bureau of Investigation." He gestured towards the leather sofa behind them. Lucern took a seat in the matching arm chair on Nikki's right side.

"Luisa, bring us some coffee" he instructed imperiously.

"Mr. Lucern, "I'm Special Agent Warner, this is Special Agent Bentancourt. We really need to talk with Mrs. Gerrard. It concerns her husband. We also need to ask about your family's connection to a private security company by the name of Global ProtectX."

"Global is not only a legitimate firm, they are exceptionally good at what they do. Due to our…profile, my family has utilized their services on any number of occasions. I don't see that as a liability. What's the FBI's interest? Are they under investigation? Have they committed some offence that merits the interest of the federal government? And why would you think my family would be any way responsible in the event that they have?"

"Should they be under investigation?" Nikki asked, the attorney in her filing away the fact that Lucern had utilized the courtroom tactic of going on the offensive, rattling off a series of rapid fire questions. She recognized an attempt at diversion when she saw it.

"As I've already said, as far as I'm aware of, Global ProtectX is completely above board and highly skilled. They have an extensive list of satisfied clients, of which my family is only one. I'm sure I don't understand why you would think that we, that is, myself or any of my family members would have any knowledge of the inner workings of the company, or be privy to any transgressions on their part?" The five hundred watt glow was back. It didn't work any better on Nikki than it had on Liz.

"Why wouldn't you? The Lucern family does own Global ProtectX, right?" Nikki asked.

The perfect smile slipped a notch as the first hint of uncertainty appeared in Jack's blue eyes. He tried to recover, but couldn't quite make it work.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I would have look into it."

Honest. You don't want to use that word, thought Nikki.

"You seem to be the type of person that would have pretty good handle on business, Mr. Lucern" Liz said.

"Our holdings are quite extensive Agent Warner. Surely you can't expect me to be familiar with every single aspect of them. Besides that, my duties as a federal prosecutor take up quite a bit of my time." Another flash of the pearly whites.

Lucern's big announcement fizzled. Both Warner and Bentancourt already knew the man was an assistant DA. Nikki had even talked to Robin Brooks on the drive to the estate. Apparently, Jack Lucern's popularity at work fell far short of intense. According to Robin, his lawyering skills left something to be desired as well. Also, Robin shared that the man was making something of a pest of himself to Colby Granger's girlfriend, Kerri Walton.

"I think the whole situation borders on sexual harassment, Nikki." Brooks shared by phone. "I said so to Kerri, but she wants handle it herself. Clearly she hasn't said anything to Colby since Lucern's not wearing a full body cast. Listen, I've got to go. Bottom line? Jack Lucern is a rich jerk who doesn't think boundaries apply to him. So be careful. Bye"

The verbal back and forth continued for another ten minutes before Warner decided to call a halt. They were spinning their wheels. Maybe Don and David would have better results. She signaled to Nikki. Once outside, Liz vented.

"Well, that was creepy. Pointless, but creepy."

"I'm glad to get out of there. He's a bad liar. And every time he looked at me I got the feeling he was trying to imagine me without any clothes on" Nikki answered, repulsed.

"I feel like I need to be dipped in Lysol. Or Clorox. Or maybe both" Warner made a gagging sound.

They sat in the car, mutually disgusted. Liz shuddered as she put the key in the ignition.

Jack watched them leave, reveling in the effect his leering manner had had on the two extremely attractive female agents. He enjoyed making beautiful, confident women feel off balance. Especially ones who imagined themselves in positions of authority. It never hurt to remind them of the proper order of things. Cell phone in hand, he hit speed dial. After one ring, his sister answered.

"I just had, in your absence, a very interesting visit from the FBI. They wanted to talk about Conrad, and Global ProtectX."

"Inconvenient timing. The product has been delivered and the second part of the transaction should be completed soon. Our people have been dispatched to the hotel to retrieve my husband. The Bureau's involvement would complicate matters considerably. We'll handle it. Go back to work We need to keep up appearances ." The siblings hung up, each with their own agendas to follow.

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David slipped on the muddy, uneven ground of the construction site, seeing stars as he banged his chin on the edge of a pile of cinder blocks. The unintentional move may have saved his life as bullets fired by the man he was chasing spanged off the brickwork over his head. Sinclair forced himself to his feet as the shooter disappeared around a corner of the half-finished building. He couldn't afford to lose sight of this guy, not after the hotel.

His and Don's arrival at Conrad Gerrard's hotel evolved from a straightforward quest for answers into a full blown shooting match in very short order. They made a stop at the front desk, gathering in a hotel rep, complete with universal card key. Stepping into the paneled, marble floored elevator, David pressed "8", and the doors closed with a hush. What he and Don could not know was that as they were headed up, Dr. Gerrard, and his Global ProtectX "security detail" were headed down and into a waiting stretch limo. Reaching suite 814, David knocked, ID ready, and announced himself.

"Dr. Gerrard, it's Agent David Sinclair, FBI. We spoke last night."

They waited. The door to suite 814 remained closed, with no acknowledgement of their presence. David tried again.

"Dr. Gerrard, open the door please. Now. We need to speak with you."

Still nothing. With an expression that spoke volumes, Don nodded to the hotel's assistant manager. The man stepped up, inserted the key, activating the door to unlock, waiting until Don gripped and turned the handle. He moved back, eyes wide as both Sinclair and Eppes made sure their weapons were readily available. Not wanting to get caught in the middle of any thing, he then retreated to the bank of elevator's, the ground floor, and his nice, safe position behind the front desk. Once there, he noted the sleek, black limousine pulling away from the VIP entrance.

At Don's signal, he and David pushed into the room, not sure what to expect. What they got was…nothing. The shower was running but Dr. Gerrard wasn't there. The room still looked occupied. The bed was unmade and a tumbler of scotch lay abandoned on the nightstand next to it. The running shower struck David as strange. Gun in hand, he walked into the bathroom, yanking back the waterproof curtain. What he saw made him stiffen in surprise. He manipulated the controls, cutting off the supply of running water.

"Don" he called, "you better get in here! You need to see this!"

His call brought Eppes in fast. They stared at the wall of the shower struggling to interpret what they saw. The doctor had apparently decided to bare his soul to the FBI after all, but too late. Written on the expensive imported tile of the shower, in indelible marker, was a message: **I DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS. THEY LEFT ME NO CHOICE. IT WAS EITHER MY SON'S LIFE OR THE LIVES OF MANY OTHER SONS. I'VE CHOSEN TO SAVE MY OWN CHILD. I PRAY SOMEDAY GOD AND ALL OF THE FAMILIES WHO WILL BE LEFT TO GRIEVE MAY FORGIVE ME. I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO FORGIVE MYSELF. **

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	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Here we go again. Don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. ** **OC's are…oh, never mind. I know Colby promised to behave himself and get well quietly, but it's driving him crazy! Me too, sooooo, enough of that!**

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" The lives of many other sons? Families left to grieve?" David's horrified whisper echoed off the bathroom walls. "What is this man hiding?"

"He's a bio weapons specialist." Don reminded him. "How to create them and how to counteract them. And he's had access to the best resources and development facilities. I don't even want to think about what he could be hiding. We just need to find him, right now."

"What about Sahar?"

"David, I get the feeling that if we find one, we find the other. The clock's ticking down. Come on, let's get out of here." He pulled out his phone to call for a forensics team. The room could yet yield valuable clues to what they were up against.

Prepared to leave, Don and David heard the unexpected sound of a card key being inserted. Company. It might be Gerrard retuning. Or housekeeping. It was neither. With Don and David tensely waiting, the door opened to show two men who's suits and ties did nothing to disguise their linebacker builds and a couple of faces that had seen a lot of roadwork. As surprised by the encounter as the two agents, the scene froze for a handful of heartbeats as the four men stared at each other.

Move stupid, don't just stand here flatfooted, David kicked himself. "FBI! Freeze!" Going for his weapon, both he and Don were forced to dive for cover when the bigger of the pair of thugs (merely huge as opposed to blocking out the sun), produced an evil looking little machine pistol.

"How does somebody that big move so _fast!?_" Sinclair wondered, as the shots ripped into the space his body had occupied only seconds before.

"Stop! You gonna kill a couple of FBI agents!? Stupid! Go! Go! Go!" David heard the other yell, then running footsteps.

Raising his head to see an empty doorway, both he and Don propelled themselves from the floor and raced after the now fleeing gunman and his companion. They reached the hallway just in time to see the elevator doors closing, blocking out the florid, chagrined face of the man who'd tried to kill them.

Instead of wasting time calling for the next car, Sinclair and Eppes leapt for the stairwell door, pounding down the stairs two and three at a time.

Even at that, both knew they were up against a handicap. As fast as he and David were moving, reaching the lobby completely breathless, Don wasn't surprised to see football necks #1 and 2 (had to call them something) rudely bulling their way thru to the hotel's front entrance.

"Stop!! FBI!" Don yelled, scattering startled hotel guests and staff as he and Sinclair, guns in hand, tried to close the gap. He ducked again as #1 whipped around and the machine pistol reappeared.

_Ppppppffffttt!!! Ppppppffffttt!!!_ Bullets plowed into the Doric column next to Don's ear. David could hears screams of frightened bystanders who suddenly discovered themselves in the middle of a running gun battle as the slugs gouged chunks from the decorative stone. Conscious of all those innocent, terrified faces, neither agent fired back.

Pursing fbn #1 and #2 as far as the parking lot, David was frustrated and dismayed to see a dark grey Lincoln SUV skid to a stop beside the men, who leapt in as the doors flew open. The vehicle then sped off, leaving thick black tread marks as it made a bumper scraping turn out of the lot, shattering the wooden arm lowered to block the exit, tearing off down the street.

Going full out for their own set of wheels, David was startled to hear his cell's distinctive ringtone. Only barely managing to park his butt in the passenger seat of the Tahoe and get the seatbelt buckled before Don blew off after the Lincoln, with flashing lights and siren, he nearly let it go to voice mail. Capturing the call on the last ring, he heard Colby's voice.

"David, I think I figured out where the kid is! Christopher Gerrard! I know where they took him!" Colby blurted excitedly.

"That's great Colby, but I can't talk right now! Me and Don are chasing a couple of goons who shot at us in Gerrard's hotel room! They'll probably lead us straight to the doc…!" Sinclair grabbed the dash as Don negotiated an ugly S turn at nearly fifty miles an hour, determined not to loose sight of the grey getaway vehicle. "We gotta get Gerrard, man! This whole mess just got a lot more complicated. I gotta go, alright?!" he half yelled, snapping the phone shut on Colby in mid-sentence.

"Call Liz and Nikki. Fill 'em in! Get 'em over this way!" Don ordered. "While you're at it, have somebody notify Tim King and his people! We're liable to need some serious back-up before this is all over!"

Eppes put his foot down more. David could feel the surge as the big truck picked up speed, gaining by inches on the men ahead of them.

In the Lincoln, fbn's #1 and #2, AKA Bob and Barney Craig surveyed the road behind them, anxiously watching the black SUV carrying a couple of understandably somewhat put out FBI agents gradually getting closer. Barney, flustered and freaked out, readied his deadly compact automatic weapon for round three. Before he could make any further preparation, however, Bob acted first. Making it up on the fly, he spotted a large construction site up ahead. Abandoned by it's developers as their financing went belly up in the collapsing economy, it was littered with the leavings of the partially completed project.

"Perfect" Bob thought. Their father, worthless drunk though he'd been, had finally been proven right about something. When they were kids and the old man felt like whacking on them, if he couldn't find a belt, would use whatever implement came to hand.

"Use what you got" the rheumy old boozer liked to bleat (before he at last succumbed to liver failure). "Alright then" Bob considered. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do." He moved up beside the driver, another Global ProtectX employee, although not one he or Barney normally worked with. They were at the construction site now.

"Turn in here" he ordered, collecting a double take by the other man, who nonetheless spun the wheel obediently, guiding the Lincoln onto the muddy, weed choked, rut filled ground. Bouncing and jostling over the untended patch, the luxury vehicle proved its worth, grinding all the way to the yawning opening of the almost office tower. All four doors popped open as the Global henchmen, five in all, an erstwhile cleaning crew for Gerrard's hotel room, decamped. They fled in four separate directions, seeking the anonymous darkness of twenty floors of unfinished mess to hide in.

Don and David, hot behind them, saw the exodus as they were skidding to a halt beside the building. The sound of tires squealing in the mud made them turn around. Liz and Nikki. Four against five now. The odds were improving by the moment.

"King and his guys are tied down with a hostage standoff at a bank across town!" Liz told Don. "We're on our own here."

Nodding his understanding of the statement Don and his team set out after the absconding culprits. Nikki and Liz after the driver and his normal partner, and Don after Bob Craig. That left David with Barney.

Sinclair smiled humorlessly. The shooter from the hotel. Good. "Shoot at me, will ya?" David sprinted thru the dank, murky ruin, determined to keep Barney in sight.

Barney, whose bulk apparently disguised his fleetness of foot, cast an unnerved glance over his shoulder to see the enraged fed coming. No time to take aim again. The felon, picking 'em up and laying 'em down as fast as he could, grimaced and ran faster still out of desperation. He had to get away. He _couldn't _go to prison. Some people didn't do at all well in prison. Barney knew he was one of those people. No prison, no way. Not for him.

David saw Barney dash thru the dark and back out into the open air, temporarily losing sight of him as Barney disappeared around the side of the building. Slipping in the mushy grime, Sinclair got clocked by a pile of cinder blocks, heard bullets carom off the bricks above his head, picked himself up, shook off the blow and continued on. He rounded the corner to see…no sign of the man he was chasing. He checked the ground for tracks, but saw none in the mixture of gravel, mud and sand. Then, spying the huge construction crane ten feet away, he got an idea. From a high enough vantage point, he could pinpoint Barney's whereabouts. David dashed for the behemoth and started up. So far, so good.

Halfway up, though, the entire venture began to go south. Without Bob around to steady him, Barney, who's judgment could be called questionable in the best of times, went totally round the bend. See his persistent pursuer occupied with ascending the crane's tower, he raised the vicious little gun in his hands and held down the trigger.

_Ppppppfffftttt!!!!!!! Ppppppfffftttt!!!! Ppppppfffftttt!!!!!!! _ The rounds whizzing around him forced David to climb higher out of sheer self preservation. The bullets clanging and ricocheting off the steel rungs of the crane were very near misses. _Ppppppfffftttt!!! Ppppppfffftttt!!!_ He kept climbing, finally running out of vertical room. _Ppppppfffftttt!!! Ppppppfffftttt!!! Ppppppfffftttt!!! _With no choice, David inched his way out on to the crane's arm and started as careful a horizontal progress as being shot at would allow. As he was nearing the monster contraption's boom end, he got another unpleasant shock.

No longer content with firing at his adversary, Barney give in to his juvenile urges, dropped the gun, and leapt into the cab of the crane. A variety of odd jobs during his teens and early twenties give Barney just enough working knowledge of the machine he sat in to be dangerous. He hotwired the engine, grinning evilly as it growled to life after months of disuse. Smiling up at the trapped fed with manic glee, he began to manipulate the arm swinging it out and away from the building until it hung swaying in the open air. Then a fiendish thought overtook him. If he swung back fast enough, maybe he could make the fed loose his grip. He located the joystick again, chuckling with delight. _CLANG!!!!! _ Barney ducked as his mini excursion into psychotic tormenting was rudely interrupted by Nikki Bentancourt's shot missing his substantial head by a fraction of an inch. Liz charged right behind her, also firing. Barney's stout sense of self preservation reasserted itself vigorously. Immediately, he dove out of the opposite side of the crane's cab, landed badly on one ankle and took off at a limping run, leaving the machine pistol forgotten, with Nikki following.

Liz looked up to see Sinclair clinging to the unsteady looking arm of the crane for dear life. She had no idea what to do about it. Pull on the wrong thing, she would only make matters worse.

"David! Try to climb back in!!" Warner yelled as loudly as she could over the still running machinery.

"Liz, this thing is moving! I can feel it! I try to climb back in now, I'll fall!" David's voice was tinged with panic. He clamped it down mercilessly. Not only was he NOT going to die today, especially like that, but he _definitely_ wasn't going to let a muscle-bound hound get the last laugh. Absolutely not going to happen.

As Liz was pondering her next move, with David trying his utmost not to move at all, Don intervened. Keeping cool, refusing to think too much about his agent gripping the metal bars of the giant tinkertoy like a lover, he frantically searched for and finally found someone who knew enough to get David to safety. Like icing on the cake, a TV station's nearby traffic helicopter noticed the commotion and came rotoring over. Incredibly, the traffic reporter, determined to move up the corporate ladder to hard news, attempted to interview Sinclair! The tenacious newsies only left after Don's furious call to the station manager pulled them away.

Fifteen minutes later, with David back on terra firma and all five Global ProtectX 'security specialists' in custody, team Eppes took stock of the results. They still had no Gerrard and no Sahar. Taking a gander (Sinclair visiting one filled with semi-murderous promise toward the now thoroughly cowed Barney) at their prisoners. Knowing what they now suspected, David decided it was hardly an even exchange.

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Colby replayed the brief conversation with David in his head. David and Don had been shot at?! Things were more complicated?!

He ground his teeth, feeling powerless. His partner, and the rest of his team were in the thick of a whole lot of ugly, and here he was, unable to back them up. He didn't even know where they were now. But he had a pretty good idea where to find Chris Gerrrard. The in-depth research into the Lucern family's abundant holdings provided a strong hint of the boy's whereabouts. Like most monied people, Alison Lucern Gerrard had the best toys. Among them was a ninety foot private yacht, currently residing in a custom slip at the Cabina Rey Yacht Club. Using the Bureau's muscle and a few contacts established from a former case, he'd learned a couple of things about the Lucern's opulent floating accommodations. Like there'd been a great deal of activity around it in the past several days. Provisioning and more than routine maintenance. The boat was being readied for use. Colby's contact also indicated he thought there might be a kid on board, but no family with the boy, just a bunch of big guys in suits. It had to be Christopher Gerrard.

He needed to get there right away. No time to lose. With David and the rest having their hands full (_why didn't someone call!? Were they all okay??)_ he couldn't, and didn't want to pull them away. But he couldn't wait either. That kid needed help now! Making up his mind, he quickly dressed, packed some things he thought might come in handy and grabbed phone, id, gun and cuffs out of habit. Obeying some obscure impulse, he also stuffed a handful of latex gloves into a back pocket, and then was out the door. Currently ride-less, more specifically truck-less, he managed to sweet talk one of his neighbors, a fiftyish single divorcee, out of the keys to her Escape, promising to return it unharmed with a full tank of gas. Before setting out for Cabina Rey, he made sure to silence his phone, rather than have it sound off at an inopportune moment. A few miles into the journey, he did get a call, but between fighting the traffic and plotting a strategy for what to do when he arrived at his destination, failed to see the flash as it lit up in notification. Unseen, the message window read **1 call missed from: DAVID. **

His badge got him past security upon his arrival at the yacht club. Now all he had to do was find the right berth. Not too difficult. The market troubles, Wall Street scandals and economic downturn served to thin the herd of conspicuous consumers by quite a bit. The Lucern boat stood out by its size alone. The full, uniformed crew swarming over its decks gave their own impression. So did the big, angry looking suits the crew took considerable pains to step around, rather carefully. From his hidden FO post in the parking lot closest to the yacht, using binoculars, Colby counted six, but kept in mind there could be more. Problem was, before he made another call to his partner or anyone else, he needed to verify Christopher Gerrard's presence. He would have to get a lot closer. Eminently doable, even in his current still on the mend condition. Snooping and pooping. Ranger school 101. Colby, who'd graduated top of his class, remembered every lesson.

Extracting his tightly rolled wetsuit from the hastily prepared pack, he climbed into the Escape's backseat and swiftly changed into it. (Thanks Mrs. Tellman for the gangsta dark tinted windows!). He tucked his cell phone into a waterproof pocket and slung his improvised knapsack over one shoulder securing it as tightly as possible. Picking a spot he judged to be far enough away so as not attract unwanted attention, but still close enough to where he wanted to be, he slipped into the water and began to swim, with only minimal protest from his mid-section. Still, by the time he'd reached the yacht, he was winded and needed to rest. Conveniently for Colby, the big vessel had its own private warehouse. With all the re-provisioning and preparation going on, there was a heavy duty gangplank connecting it to the gently bobbing pleasure craft. Beyond that, an open door leading to the yacht's interior. That was his boarding pass. But to use it, he would need to draw big, angry suit number seven, standing surly watch by the door, away from his post. He briefly considered a fire, goaded by the memory of his burning truck, but the FBI angel on his shoulder reminded him that arson was a criminal offense. Frontal assault was out of the question. His dad might have raised an ugly kid, but he hadn't raised an idiot. Angry suit was the size of a body building convention and most likely well armed, not to mention connected by radio with his buddies. Seeing a large forklift idling nearby gave him the beginnings of a plan. He turned that plan over in his head for a while, refining it and examining it for flaws. Rehearsing it a couple of times mentally, (he _really_ didn't want to injure anybody, especially any of the warehouse workers or the yacht's crew) he figured he was ready. Getting as close as he could, Colby waited until the lift's operator stepped away for an unauthorized (and unscheduled) break. Yes! The man left the engine running to cover his absence. He eased his way up to it and into the driver's seat. The position of the device, parked behind an enormous wooden crate could not have been better. Granger sent up a quickie thanks for his time spent in Afghanistan (whoda thunk it!). Thanks to a clan feud and a couple of enterprising heroin smugglers, he actually knew how to operate a forklift. Wouldn't David and the rest just love to hear _that_ story! Wasting no time, he put it in motion, scooping up the crate, pushing it into several smaller crates. The resulting collision worked out very nicely indeed. The larger crate bashing into the lesser ones created a domino effect, with crates from one row upsetting the crates in the next. Supplies for the upcoming voyage toppled over and spilled out into the open, creating epic disarray. Colby, already on his way to the gangplank and access door viewed the ear-splitting general chaos with satisfaction. Particularly since angry suit number seven chose to check it out up close and personal instead of rubbernecking from a distance. Once AS joined the crowd investigating the clamorous disturbance, Granger slipped behind the gawkers, up the gangplank and thru the now deserted doorway onto the yacht.

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	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I'm just gonna come right out with it. I don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. OC's are mine and on and on. Let's move right along, shall we?**

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He paused once inside to make sure he hadn't been spotted. Then, on his neoprene slippered feet, he carefully advanced down the poorly lit passageway. Colby had all five senses wide open. Acutely aware that not only was he totally alone but also not bulletproof, staying invisible seemed a very laudable goal. Don and the others had no notion of where he was. If he were found out, he could be snuffed and dumped over the side at sea. Not even Charlie would be able find him this time. So, Colby told himself, don't get found out.

Eyes and ears going full blast, he climbed a half flight of metal stairs which took him from the yacht's storage/engine room level to one probably inhabited by crew. Not a bit ashamed, he skulked for all he was worth, hugging doorways like a cat burglar. Since each level up increased his chances of being discovered, he knew he needed to move quickly. Departure could happen at any time.

Two minutes of recon confirmed this deck held crew quarters. Each recessed doorway was equipped with a porthole window. A quick peek told him if its occupant was present or not. Largely not. Most of the boat's crew was busy preparing to get underway. He did find one woman, ahem, changing uniforms. Feeling very much like a dirty little boy, Granger moved on, checking the remainder of the cabins. No Christopher Gerrard. Time for another flight of stairs, this time a full one. He actually had a hand on the railing and one foot on the first step when the sound of voices approaching nearly gave him heart failure. Silently tucking in under the stairs, Colby fervently hoped the black and grey of his wetsuit would help him blend in

with the shadows. Controlling his breathing and commanding his heart rate back to normal, he waited for the two crewmembers to descend, talking animatedly. Snatches of the conversation he could hear told him they were discussing his warehouse antics. Apparently, the forklift operator was vehemently denying all responsibility for the disaster but no one believed him. Sorry buddy, Colby thought. You're gonna have to take one for the team, even if you don't know you're on it.

Once the way was clear again, he went up, ascending two at a time. With the caution of a thief inside the Vatican, he poked his head around the corner, ready to sprint for it if one or more of the angry suits were in attendance. Nobody. Whew! Polished teak flooring and walls fairly screamed passenger level. The distance between cabins increased markedly. There were only five on the entire deck, each one probably bigger than his apartment, Colby reflected wryly. No metal doors either. Only more wood, shined until he could make out his own reflection in it. They did have one thing in common with the crew cabins. Porthole windows, only bigger. About to peer thru one, he heard more voices, which entailed more hiding and breath holding. If he made it out of here, his doctor could skip the heart stress test on the annual physical. Quantico, he decided, needed a class on sneaking aboard luxury vessels to search for kidnap victims. He owed David an apology. It was official. His head was not only harder than diamonds, but in the immortal words of Sgt. Bill Castle, evil's chief minion among army drill sergeants, solid bone from ear to ear.

Alone again, he resumed his check of the passenger cabins, rooting for the narrow hallway to remain empty save for himself. Showing no evidence of being occupied, they were neither locked nor had shades drawn, a boon for the nervous FBI stowaway. He struck gold on number three. Sitting cross legged on the king sized bed, bearing a striking resemblance to a kicked puppy, which made Colby see red, had to be ten year old Chris Gerrard. Pulling a set of lock picks from his pack, gaining entrance to the one locked cabin (of course, it would be the only one wouldn't it?) was a simple matter. The child's eyes widened in surprise. Granger put a finger to his lips to keep the boy from speaking aloud.

"Chris, my name is Colby Granger." He spoke in a low tone, both to sooth the boy and not attract attention from outside. The smile on the kid's face was like the sun coming up. "I'm gonna get you out of here, ok? But we gotta be smart about this. Can you swim? Cause, you might have to, at least for a little while." While he spoke he shoved his pack under the bed. It's remaining contents would only be in his way for now.

Chistopher nodded vigorously. "Can I go with you now?! Can I go with you now?!" Chris was desperately eager to leave this gilded prison, with its painful injections, behind him.

"I'm gonna need you to be brave just a little longer, okay? I gotta make sure that this boat can't go anywhere, and then, you and I, we're going to have to get some help. I need you to do something for me." Granger pulled his cell phone from its waterproof pocket and handed it to Christopher. "Take this. After I leave, hit number one or two, then the green button. Ask for Don or David. You know where you are, right?" Another nod. "Good. Tell them where we are and what's going on. They can take it from there. Hang in there, dude. It's almost over. Lock the door behind me" He ruffled the boy's hair, smiled encouragingly, and with a thumbs-up gesture, was back out the door. This time, with a specific destination in mind, trying to ignore the warning signals from his insides. Behind him, in the cabin, Chris looked at the strange cell phone in his hand. The message window was colorfully lighted. It read **3 calls missed from: DAVID.**

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Sinclair swore in annoyance. "Now where is he?" After two unsuccessful attempts to call Colby by landline, David resorted to his partner's cell number. It should have been possible to reach him by one or the other, but so far, still no luck. He swore softly again. His "Colby is in over his head" alarm was shrieking like a virgin spinster in a room full of naked old men.

He rejoined Nikki, monitoring Don's interrogation of one of the Global ProtectX five. Which was going exactly nowhere. David had to give these Global meatheads one thing. No matter what they were threatened with, after a rousing chorus of "I demand an attorney", which same were duly produced, to a man, they'd clammed up. Not so much as name, rank and serial number.

That included Barney Craig, who's repeated attempts on the lives of two federal agents gave him the most to lose. When Don was done with him, Barney might need a change of underwear, but he still evidently feared his employers more than the FBI. He, Don, Liz and Nikki needed to find a chink in that fear. A way in. Fast.

"Still nothing?" Nikki asked him, aware of his attempts to contact Colby.

"No. Nothing" David replied, rapping on the one way glass of the interrogation room. Don paused, glaring at the recalcitrant Barney before coming out to stand beside the others.

"You still can't get hold of Colby?" Eppes asked, already knowing the answer by the look on David's face. "You think he went on his own?"

"Don, the last thing he said to me was "I think I figured out where the kid is!" You know Colby. If he thinks he can find the Gerrard kid, he's not gonna wait! I'm trying real hard not to think the worst 'cause he's not answering, but the longer it goes on…" Sinclair left the rest unsaid.

"Yeah, alright. Village idiots one thru five will keep. We're wasting our time with this bunch anyway. Right now, we track down Colby. Get over to his place and…" Don broke off as David's cell started ringing.

Sinclair checked the caller id, then flipped the phone open. "Colby! Where are you?! What going on?!"

"Is this David?" a childish voice questioned from the other end. "Colby told me to ask for David or Don." This sounded like a kid.

"This is David Sinclair. Who is this? Where is Colby?" David demanded urgently.

"My name is Christopher Gerrard. Colby told me to call you. He didn't come back yet! I'm really scared! You hafta help him!" The child sounded tearful, and terrified.

Hitting the speaker button so Don and Nikki could hear, Sinclair modified his tone to calm his young caller down. "Ok, it's gonna be alright. We're gonna help him. And you, too. First I need you to tell me where you are and then tell me what happened to Colby? Can you do that?" All three agents waited restively.

"I'm on the boat, the big one. Colby he went…" Suddenly the boy stopped, saying nothing else.

"Christopher? Chris! What is it? Where did Colby go?!"

In the cabin, Christopher Gerrard, calling for help like he'd been instructed, heard the sound of his door being unlocked. He knew the ones giving him the shots would hurt him or Colby if they found the phone. Instead of hanging up, he quickly scooted off the bed, and hid the phone under it, putting a pillow over it to muffle David's shouts. He'd just sat down on the bed again when the door opened completely, and Chris saw not Colby, but someone else he desperately needed to see. His father.

Seeing the face of his son after days of abject fear that he never would again, Conrad Gerrard broke down. His sobs of relief filled the spacious stateroom as he hugged the boy to him tightly. The traumatized Christopher ended up comforting his distraught parent.

"It's okay, daddy. It's ok. Don't cry! Please don't cry daddy. It's ok." Chris patted his father's shoulders awkwardly, trying to help as best he could in his juvenile way.

"How very touching" Alison Gerrard put in sarcastically from the doorway. Scornfully regarding the emotional scene between her husband and stepson, she switched her gaze to her spouse.

"I'll leave you two alone. We cast off in thirty minutes." She closed the door, locking it and stationing a Global ProtectX sentry to keep watch.

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When Colby Granger was eleven years old, his Aunt Brenda, his mom's sister, left his Uncle Ted. The parting words she yelled in the general direction of her largely clueless spouse were "I think you've always loved her more than you ever did us! I hope you'll be very happy together!" Brenda Morgan gathered in her suitcases and both her children, straightened to her full height and marched to the door, shooed the children out, and then stepped out herself, slamming it behind her. Ten seconds later it opened again. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer!!" She screamed with conviction, slamming the door for good this time.

Ted Morgan did indeed hear from his bitter, soon-to-be ex-wife's attorney. A lot. Brenda, it seemed, wanted it all. The house, the car, the bank account and a generous monthly stipend, otherwise known as alimony and child support. Ted surprised everyone by giving in on every point with scarcely a word of protest.

"Let her have it, whatever she wants. It's not important" Ted instructed his flummoxed lawyer. He meant it too. Ted let nearly every earthly possession he'd managed to accumulate in thirty-nine years go bye-bye, didn't even fight for custody of his son and daughter.

Brenda's attorney found it such a breeze to take her client's ex to the cleaners that the barrister was overheard to complain "It's no fun when they make it this easy."

The reason for Ted's ready acceptance of incipient pauperhood was not, as some might have suspected, another woman, despite Brenda's final words to him. Neither was it, as in many dysfunctional couple's disputes, money. No, the final nail in the coffin of their marriage, the straw that broke the marital camel's back, was twenty four feet, six inches and two decks of cabin cruiser that Colby's uncle rather thoughtlessly christened _ Brenda, Too._ At first, Brenda had been flattered to have her husband's shiny new pride and joy named after her. A sign of his devotion and regard for her she'd deemed it. Gradually, though, after Ted began spending hours, then days, then weeks at a time, painting and refurbishing, fussing over, tinkering with and sleeping on the _Brenda, Too_, not to mention the fishing expeditions with his friends, Brenda grew to resent the boat, then to hate it. Finally, after Ted's dinner had gone cold for the hundred and fiftieth time, Brenda gave him an ultimatum, "It's me or her." The next day, she'd taken her children and departed.

Colby's uncle **loved **that boat. Every thing about it. Every line, every angle, every inch of deck space. It was his baby, his precious, his most consuming passion. Colby was firmly convinced that if forced to make the choice, his uncle Ted would have cheerfully laid down his own life in defense of the _Brenda, Too._

Which was probably why, when Granger was twelve, his dad had tanned his hide like cheap shoe leather after Colby, on a dare from his resentful, neglected cousin, used all of his preadolescent ingenuity to sabotage the engine and fuel line of the _Brenda, Too._ He'd learned about engines from a lot of different places. His own dad, other uncles, Jim Dixon, owner of Winchester's one and only garage and body shop, lot of places. So when his cousin chimed in about how much he disliked the cabin cruiser and then dared Colby to prove his knowledge of engine inner workings, it was too much temptation for a twelve year old.

He'd taken up the challenge, and been as amazed as anyone else when his

attempts at subversion bore fruit. His uncle Ted, blissfully unaware of his nephew's destructive monkeying about, bounded aboard the _Brenda, Too _one bright sunny morning. He cast off the lines, turned the key…and been greeted by voluminous clouds of greasy black smoke and an engine that balked at the words 'turn over' with a throaty, choking gurgle. Twenty-five hundred dollars and twenty four hours later, Colby was banned for life from being in the presence of the _Brenda, Too. _ Young Colby Granger, seeing the smile on his cousin's face at not having to compete with the boat for his father's attention, considered his sore butt and lifetime ban to be worth it.

Now, Colby, returning from gumming up the engine works of yet another boat, in defense of yet another young boy, was hoping to be just as successful. It had taken much longer than he'd promised Christopher Gerrard. Not having himself or his efforts noticed by any of the yacht's crew ate up a horrendous chunk of time. Making his way back to the kid without being noticed more so.

He crept up from the engine room, past the storage and crew decks, and was about to cover the short distance to Christopher's cabin when Alison and Conrad Gerrard stepped into the passageway. Given the great acoustics, Granger was able to overhear everything. The tearful reunion between father and son, and Alison Gerrard's bloodless reaction to it.

"Mrs. Gerrard, you're a douche" he whispered under his breath. Unfortunately for him, she was on top of things enough to leave one of the Angrys behind. Colby's old pal from the boathouse doorway. "And me without a forklift." Colby thought. Now what?

He was still pondering his options when a resounding **BOOM!!! ** echoed thru the entire boat. Looking out of the one window he had access to from his current hiding place, he saw a thick, billowing cloud of black smoke roiling skyward with enthusiasm. Those latex gloves he'd included at the last second. Like duct tape. A thousand and one uses.

"Nice to know I've still got it" He smiled maliciously. Alarm bells sounded on all the decks. Waiting until AS turned his head, Colby melted into the darkness under the half-flight of stairs, waiting out the general mayhem. Running footsteps, and then a shout.

"Johnson! Check the engine room! Find out what the situation is down there! The brat and his old man ain't going anywhere! Go! Now!"

Granger, hunkered down under steps, saw the AS dash past him and continue on to the engine room. Taking a risk, he darted back up to the passenger level, and was immensely pleased to find the corridor empty.

Swiftly working the lock again, he darted into the stateroom, which now held both Christopher Gerrard and a frazzled, startled Conrad.

"Who are you?! H…ho…how did you get in here?! What do you want?! the scientist blurted hysterically, panic pushing his voice into the upper register.

'Take it easy, doc. I'm on your side. I'm an FBI agent. My name is Colby Granger. I'm gonna get you and your son out of here." Colby focused on Chris.

"Did you do what I asked you to do champ?" Granger asked.

"Yes…" Christopher tried to continue, but his father interrupted.

"Get us out of here?! There, there, there's no way out of here! No way off this yacht! I told that other agent, and now I'm telling you! Leave us alone! I, we have no choice! We have to do what they say! We have to! There's NO WAY OUT! You have to go! you have to go now!" He clutched Christopher frantically, "Get out! Get out! Get out!" Gerrard was yelling now, loud enough be heard by anyone passing the cabin.

"Doctor" Colby barked the word sharply, green eyes boring in on the distraught man. "Keep your voice down. The yacht's not going anywhere, not for a couple of hours anyway. I made sure of that. Now you and me, we're gonna have to work together to get Chris out of here, huh? So you need to settle down. We don't have a lot of time before your guard comes back. So we have to leave now. If we do run into anyone, I want you to let me handle it, alright?" he waited until he got nods from both. He went to the porthole, checking for the AS named Johnson. Not back yet. Good. He didn't bother with his gun. Outnumbered by who knew how many to one, reenacting Custer's last stand didn't sound too smart. He turned back to the Gerrards.

"Chris, do you still have…" Colby tried to ask for his phone, but Gerrard interrupted again, this time in an anguished whisper.

"We can't leave! You don't understand! You can't understand! If we leave here my son will..." he left the sentence unfinished, not wanting to blurt the horrible truth out in front of Christopher. The only know antidote to his son's poison lay with Amir Sahar, already on board. Without it, Christopher would have forty-eight to seventy-two hours to live at most. They _were_ trapped. In more ways than one. This Granger didn't, couldn't possibly understand. But Conrad did. After all he had done to protect, to save his son's life over the last two years. Everything he had given up, sacrificed, including his honor and self-respect, his freedom and integrity, he could not hand the responsibility for Christopher over to a stranger now. He would do whatever was necessary. For Christopher.

"W…We're, we're ready" Gerrard told Colby.

"Chris" Granger addressed himself to Christopher again. I need my phone back, Ok?" He smiled at Chris's ready trust. The kid was game, even if his old man wasn't.

Chris turned to dive under the bed, retrieving the still open phone. Before he could hand it to Colby, walking towards him hand out, Conrad Gerrard took advantage of the clear path to the door. He bolted for the entrance, dashed into the passageway and yelled hysterically.

"He's in here! He's in here! Help! Help! You have to help us! He's an intruder and he's in here!"

Colby tried to shut him up, but the damage was already done. Gerrard's hysterical screaming attracted too much attention. Coming on the run were no less than four angry suits. Bringing up the rear, naturally, Granger saw Alison Gerrard and (this time Colby's eyes widened) the target of Don's team for several weeks now, Amir Sahar. With no time do more, Colby snatched the phone from Christopher and tossed it back under the bed, still connected to David. Then the angry suits burst in. Well, ain't this a kick in the head, he thought.

"FBI" he stated sarcastically. "You're all under arrest." During the brief, ugly struggle that followed he worked in at least a couple of nasty hits of his own before taking a gun butt to the back of his head and slumping unconscious to the floor. The angry suits dragged him roughly from the room, under the dark, inscrutable eyes of their ultimate employer, Sahar, and a speechless, appalled Alison Gerrard.

Conrad and Christopher Gerrard were left alone, the boy regarding his father with a ten year olds crushing disappointment.

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	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Ok, you know the drill by now, but just to keep the lawyers **

**happy let's do it anyway. Don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the **

**Numb3rs characters. Won't even mention you know who this time.**

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"Chris, I need my phone back, OK?" David Sinclair heard his partner's voice say. The next thing he heard was Conrad Gerrard, exposing Colby's presence to the very people Granger was trying to rescue the bio-weapons researcher and his son from. Helpless to intervene, David and the rest could only listen as Colby's phone, forgotten under the bed, transmitted the entire series of events.

Sinclair's fist clenched as he overheard the short, violent scuffle that culminated in Colby being knocked out and taken away.

Don was on top of it. "We know they're on a yacht. Nikki, find the Lucern yacht. Now, go. Liz, get on the horn with Colby's cell carrier. Get 'em started tracking that phone. Colby bought us some time. Let's use it. David, keep that line open and monitored. And notify SWAT. Tim King and his people or another team, they need to be ready to go when we find that boat," Eppes was issuing orders on the fly, headed for the elevator at a near run.

"Where're you going?" David questioned.

"To get a warrant. When that yacht's found, we go straight in. No screwing around. And I'll deal with the federal prosecutor's office. Alison Gerrard's brother is an assistant DA. He better know where his sister is." The doors closed on Don's grimly determined expression.

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Granger's return to the land of the conscious was neither slow or gentle. A vicious right from AS number seven, whose equally massive Global ProtectX homey's knew him as Johnson snapped Colby's head back and his eyes open. A left caused him to gray out, but not nearly long enough.

"Wakey, wakey, Johnson taunted, the venomous sneer pasted on his face showing how much he enjoyed it.

"That will suffice for now" Amir Sahar commanded, stepping forward, palm imperiously raised.

"Yeah" Colby mumbled thru the ringing in his head. He glared at Johnson thru the one eye not beginning to swell shut. "That'll suffice for now, lamb chop. Besides, those love taps of yours tickle."

Johnson's eyes bulged out as he took a half step in Granger's direction.

"He said that's enough! Get back to Gerrard and his kid. Michaels go with him! Do it now!"

Locating this newest speaker, Colby's eyes unknowingly settled on Clarence, the late Keith's former would-be mentor. Clarence's tone as he regarded Johnson was laced with disgust. When this was over, Clarence concluded, he'd need to have a long talk with HR at Global. Their hiring standards were really slipping.

"A poor decision, my FBI friend, coming here alone. Don't you agree? Do you fancy yourself an invincible superman, able to sweep your foes from before you with a mere flick of the wrist?" Sahar was contemptuous, condescending.

Granger had already privately come to the same conclusion, mentally kicking himself for being an inpatient doof. What he said out loud was, "Well, I've been wanting to meet you for a while now…"

Sahar began to preen, his considerable vanity stoked.

"After all" Colby finished, "I really wanted to find out what herpes in a three thousand dollar suit looked like up close and personal."

Sahar's superior façade crumbled, his face clouding with anger. Almost involuntarily, his arm flew up to administer a backhanded blow to the defenseless man. It did not land. Regaining his self-control with effort, Colby's finely tailored captor retreated, dismissive.

"For a man whose life is forfeit, you demonstrate a remarkable lack of tact."

Gesturing to one the angry suits, the arms dealer walked over to stare out of the stateroom's huge window, taking in a view of the water. Behind him, he could hear the sound of fleshy blows as the Global muscle men began to question their captive in earnest.

Revolted, Alison Gerrard also turned away, her pampered sensibilities offended by the raw brutality on open display. She walked over to Amir.

"Is there any reason I must witness this?" she sniffed.

The Afghani man surveyed her mockingly. "You are only a woman, and weak. You may leave"

As Alison sought to make her escape from the room, a white suited crewman suddenly blocked her path, his stunned gape taking in the scene.

"Well, what is it you imbecile?" she questioned him sharply.

Licking dry lips, the young man stammered out "th…the…the…engine roo…rr….room crew says they can fix the damage, bbb…but it'll take about an hour, may…maybe a little longer." He swallowed hard.

"Very well. You can go." She waved her hand. He fled. She looked at Clarence.

"Go to my brother's home. He has a tendency to behave foolishly when I'm not around to restrain him." Clarence left to follow his instructions.

After whaling away for some time, Colby's winded interrogators paused at a signal from Sahar. The FBI agent's refusal to tell them anything infuriated him. As they were about to resume, Amir Sahar prevented them.

"Stop. This is pointless. Take him back to huddle with Gerrard and the boy. He can be disposed of once we are out at sea. I have other arrangements to see to." With that, the arms dealer was gone, leaving the angry suits to drag their dazed, pain-wracked prisoner back to where they'd found him.

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Knees drawn up to his chest, a devastated Christopher Gerrard sat as far from his father as possible, too hurt to speak.

A bright, intuitive ten year old, Chris had known something was bad wrong for his dad for a long time now. Neither of their lives had been the same since his father's marriage to Alison Lucern.

His stepmom didn't like him. Chris could tell that from the beginning. Still, as long as he stayed out of her way as much as possible, she largely ignored him. Alison did things to hurt his dad though. Chris saw his father change, become sad, nervous. His father started taking medicine he said was to help with something called an ulcer, and he had a lot of trouble sleeping.

Then, without warning, Conrad went to the hospital. No one would talk to Chris. Determined to make sure his dad was going to be ok, Chris snuck out of his bedroom, making a perilous climb out of his bedroom window and down the large oak tree that stood next to it. Using knowledge gained from his only playmates, the children of his stepmother's servants, he used the city's bus system to get to the hospital. Unknown to Bob and Barney Craig, a terrified Chris witnessed the entire night, including their confrontation with Colby, and their taking his dad away. That's when Chris had heard the nurses say that the patient they helped back into bed was an FBI agent. Then they said the man's name. Colby Granger. The patient in the room next to his dad's was an FBI agent named Colby Granger. Desperate and frightened, Christopher bided his time, waiting for a chance. It came during a school field trip. Asking to go to the bathroom, Chris dashed for the first payphone he found. His call to Agent Colby Granger at the FBI's L. A. field office was amazingly transferred by a brand new switchboard operator (now undergoing refresher training) to Colby's home number. When Chris's miracle, unlikely contact with Colby was interrupted by the Global Goonies (Chris's name for them), then Chris was taken to the boat, the boy had given up hope. That hope was restored when Colby showed up in his cabin. Why did his dad do that? Why did he turn Colby over to the Global Goonies?! Chris couldn't look at his dad. He was too upset.

Conrad Gerrard was mustering the words to say to his confused son when the door to the stateroom opened. A pair of Global ProtectX 'security specialists', Johnson and Michaels, bearing the battered form of Colby Granger between them. Ungently hauling the agent across the room, Johnson used lengths of deck roping to tightly tie Granger to piping attached to the walls.

Colby lay back, resting his head on the relative comfort of the expensive carpeting.

Johnson stood over him, wanting to hurt the FBI agent even more than he already had. "Not so tough now, are ya?" he snarled. It was he Colby slipped past to get to the Gerrards, and his fellow Global ProtectX comrades were already giving him a hard time about it. Humiliated, Johnson wanted payback in the worst way and didn't figure he'd gotten nearly enough of it.

"Aw, now, don't go away mad, pookums, just go away" Colby snarked thru a bruised, swollen mouth.

Johnson growled, drawing back his leg for a savage kick. Connecting with the already injured man's rib cage, he was rewarded with a satisfying grunt of pain. Stomping out, he slammed the hatch behind him, locking all three captives in once more.

Chris sprang into action, at Colby's side almost before the door closed.

"Agent Granger? Colby? Please open your eyes! Please!" the boy pleaded frantically.

Colby, who wanted nothing more than to lie still and find an inch or two of his body that didn't hurt, forced his eyes open and smiled encouragingly at Chris.

"It's ok, champ. I'm tougher than they think. Don't worry about me."

He settled back to the floor again, gasping from the effort of that one small bit of conversation.

"Colby" Christopher whispered, "should I get the phone out?" He didn't quite look in the direction of the bed, instinctively shutting his father out of the exchange.

Colby gave his head a microscopic shake. "Leave it alone" Colby whispered back. "My friends can use it to find us. Help's on the way. Just a little while longer. I'm sure of it. It's gonna be alright. Trust me, 'kay?"

"Christopher! Come away from him! Don't talk to him! Come away! Right this minute!" Gerrard rapped angrily. His son did not understand. No one understood.

"It's okay, kiddo. Listen to your dad. Ok? Don't be too hard on him. He loves you. He's very worried and it's messin' with his head. Try to cut him some slack." Colby gasped the last words out, silently willing David Sinclair and the rest of his team to show before it was too late. He tried to concentrate on suppressing the pain.

"Come on guys! Where are you?! You gotta get here! You gotta get here now! " he repeated mentally, over and over. Soon, the damage done to the yacht might be repaired and the boat able to put to sea. Time passed as he marshaled his strength, sending the unspoken SOS his fellow agents.

Almost as if in response to his urgent pleading, he finally heard a bullhorn warning and a blat of automatic weapons fire rang out. Don Eppes and his team of agents had arrived, accompanied by Tim King's FBI SWAT team. Now all they had to do was get to their comrade and the Gerrards in time.

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	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Let's make it quick this time. Don't own any part of **

**Numb3rs including the characters. Warning! Fictional locations ahead. **

**Now that that's out of the way…Beep! Beep! Beep! Backing up just a bit.**

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**(**The team's POV**)**

"Gotcha!" Nikki Bentancourt wheeled around triumphantly in her chair, clutching

the results of her frenetic search in her hand. "I found the yacht! It's a ninety footer

currently berthed at the Cabina Rey Yacht Club. The _Mariana Star._

Looks like they're making preparations for a trip, though. A long one.

Lots of stuff being loaded on board. Guy I talked to is the harbor master.

He talked like he thinks they're gonna leave any minute."

Liz ended her phone conversation and joined Don and Nickki. "Colby's carrier puts the signal here. It was a lot easier to pinpoint because the line is still open" She jabbed at a spot on the map she was using. The wealthy playground of Cabina Rey.

"Don" David Sinclair started rushing in, "SWAT's ready to roll, as soon as we get the where!"

"Just did" Don replied grabbing vest and gun and running for the elevator. The rest followed, each hoping Colby could hold out until they could get to him.

David, intently monitoring the open phone line the entire time, desperately listened for the sound of his partner's raspy sarcasm. For most of that time he heard nothing. If there was anyone left in the room, they didn't speak.

Then, suddenly, the sound of the cabin door being flung open. David could hear dragging sounds, something heavy. That was followed by a voice he did not recognize, full of malignant pleasure.

"Not so tough now are ya?" the stranger spat out viciously.

Sinclair, to his immense relief, picked up Colby's mouthy response. Following on its heels was the sound of a kick and a grunt of pain. David's hold on the armrest tightened to a death grip.

"When I find you, I'm gonna rip that leg off at the hip" Sinclair silently vowed to Colby's unseen abuser.

Behind him, weapons were being checked and Kevlar donned. At a distance devouring seventy-five miles per hour, Granger's FBI rescue team drew ever closer.

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"Doc" Colby's agony soaked mumble broke the strained silence within Christopher Gerrard's stateroom. "Doctor Gerrard? Doctor Gerrard!" Colby's much put upon rib cage, the recipient of quite a bit of his questioner's attention, registered a stringent protest. Unable to do much about it with his hands tied (a lot tighter that was strictly necessary by the humiliated Johnson), he gasped and rode out the pain. He suspected he had at least one, maybe more, fractured ribs.. Fat lip, tender jaw, loose teeth, one eye completely closed, and just to round things out, possibly even a little internal bleeding. His surgical site wasn't feeling too swinging either. Lovely. He tried again. "Doctor…Gerrard!" This time more insistent.

"Doctor, listen to me. I understand you're worried about your son. We, you and I, we gotta get Christopher out of here. Sahar and your wife, whatever they've already done to him, it's just gonna get worse if we don't. You know that. You can turn away, you can tell yourself whatever you have to, but if you really want to protect him, if you really love him, you'll listen to me."

Gerrard exploded. "Don't you try to tell me how to protect my son! Don't you tell me I don't love him! You don't know what I've done for him. How far I've gone! You have no right to judge! What do you know?! What do you know?! What could you possibly know?!" The distraught father crossed the room to stand over Colby, then as his knees gave way, collapsed beside the FBI agent, nearly inarticulate with impotent rage, tears running down his face.

"You don't understand! You don't understand!" Gerrard hissed, barely above a whisper. He cast a look behind him to Chris, crouched a few feet away, unsure of how to respond to this new behavior from his dad. The boy could see but not hear the exchange between his father and Colby.

Gerrard continued in the same undertone. "They, they po…they poisoned him. Sss…Sahar and my wife. They gave him poison. Sahar is the only one with the antidote! And it has to be administered every twelve hours! Even if we could get him off the ship, without that antidote, my son will die within seventy-two hours! Th…the…there's no way you could, no way anyone can prevent that! He has to have those injections! I will do anything I'm told to do! I've already done terrible things! Unthinkable things! And I'll keep doing them, do you understand me?! I have no choice! I can't let my son die!" Conrad buried his face in his hands.

It took all of Colby Granger's considerable self-control to stay poker faced during the doc's revelation. Obviously, Chris had no idea of what was being done to him. What kind of people did this to a kid? Through his years of war, and with the Bureau, Colby had seen a lot of the twisted things one human being could do to another. It took a lot to shock him anymore. But this? His blood boiled. He filed Gerrard's assertions of what had already taken place away for later.

"Doc, look I…you're right. I don't have any idea what this must be like for you. And I don't, I don't know how to counteract whatever it is they gave him. But hear me, ok? I'm friends with some of the finest minds in the world. These friends of mine, they know some of the rest of the finest minds, including the medical ones. If anybody can help Chris, figure out what he was given and how to neutralize it, they can. But we have to get him out of here first. We have to. If we don't, he doesn't stand a chance. Let me ask you something. Which do you think is more likely to happen? Do you really believe that once they have no more use for him, or you, that they're gonna give him some kind of ultimate antidote? That everything will be all good? That Sahar and your wife, once they're done with you, that Chris will be given a cure for this poison? You'll be free to live your lives in peace, no looking back? Or will they kill you and just let him die? Because those are your options. There's no middle ground. Sahar and Alison stole your son's life, and yours. You have to take them back. For Chris's sake. There's only one way to do that." Colby stopped, nothing else to say.

Gerrard was also quiet, staring first and Granger, then at his son and back again to Colby. Struggling to find the words, he finally gave up, concentrating instead on the floor, indecision strangling him.

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With the legal niceties chopped thanks to a no-nonsense judge, Don Eppes FBI team hit the _Mariana Star _with the ferocity of a hungry tiger shark. Giving the yacht's defenders no time to react, the agents simply overwhelmed the opulent vessel's private security force. Somewhere on that boat lay a possibly badly injured Colby Granger. Don's bull-horn warning of "Attention _Mariana Star_, this is the FBI! We have a warrant! Prepare to be boarded!" was greeted by gunfire from the boat. Fine by me, Don thought.

David Sinclair stitched his target up the right side with a three second burst from his assault rifle. Firing on the run as he rushed up the gangplank right on Don's heels, he didn't slow. Forced to finally break the cellular connection to Colby as the raid got underway, David reacted blink fast as a man foolishly attempted to block the passageway. Sinclair, senses attuned for any threat, unknowingly traced the same route his partner had traveled earlier. Winding his way cautiously but quickly thru what appeared to be ship's storage, he could look to his left and see the engine room. To his right, a half-flight of metal stairs led upwards. He started for them, only to be blocked by more shooters, armed with automatic weapons of their own. David was momentarily pinned down before receiving an assist from the powerful punch of three SWAT agents returning fire. A brief, nasty firefight ensued before two of the 'security specialists' were down, one dead, one injured. The third, abruptly seeing the error of his ways, chose to give up, ending face down on the metal floor. Leaving the mess for SWAT to attend to, David rushed up the stairs to what looked like a series of modest sized cabins. Quickly clearing them, he could hear sounds of more fighting going on outside on the decks and above him on the upper floor. His ears caught running footsteps, and he whirled ready to deal with whatever danger presented itself. Experience stayed his finger on the trigger as Liz Warner materialized in the doorway, similarly armed.

"You've been hanging around Granger too long. Thought you might try to find him by yourself."

"I think these must be the crews quarters. Not swanky enough to be for any passengers. Come let's get out of here."

Amir Sahar, seething at the emerging debacle happening around him, knew he had a matter of minutes before FBI agents were upon him. He had no intention of being caught up in some sordid attempt at escape. Nor would he be fool enough to try and "shoot it out", as the American media was so wont to portray. Equipped with diplomatic ties to several nations, Sahar was not overly worried about spending an undue amount of time in FBI custody. The shipment, his main purpose for coming to the United States, was even now wending its way to those for whom it was intended. These pathetic federal policeman could not prevent that. They did not, would not know of its existence. He had no fear Alison Gerrard would betray him. She could not reveal what she was not aware of. She did not understand about the shipment's true potential. Not that it would have made a difference either way. Alison was ever the pragmatist, and completely under his control. In the extremely unlikely event that she decided to be cooperative with her soon to be captors, Sahar was confident his international connections would protect him. As for her husband, since his full usefulness could now no longer be realized, Amir knew his orders for the scientist and his son were being carried out. Confident Gerrard would never be able to reveal what he knew and prepared to let Alison Lucern Gerrard (the absurd woman, always so conscious of her imagined superiority) as the saying went, "twist slowly in the wind", poured a finger of scotch and settled back to comfortably await developments.

Alison Gerrard shook uncontrollably as she heard the FBI agents getting closer. The large quantity of brandy she'd consumed did nothing to calm her shattered nerves. How could this have happened? How could they be here!? And so quickly!? What was she going to do!? What…what…sh…she, she couldn't think. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to get away. They were supposed to be away from here by now. Away from the jurisdiction of the American or any other authorities! She couldn't be handcuffed! Paraded about, subject to public ridicule! She couldn't go to prison, jailed like some common felon. Totally out of question! She was a Lucern! Her station in life was above such indignities! How could this have happened!? How were they found so soon?! In her inebriated panic, she seized on the only refuge she could think of. Amir. She had to get to Amir. He would protect her! He had to! She rushed to the door, yanking it open, very close to losing control completely. Gasping with shock, Alison backed up into the room, stumbling over her own designer shod feet and falling. Grimly businesslike, Nikki Bentancourt, gun ready, stood over the shaken society maven. Two SWAT agents stood ready, watching impassively.

"Nice to finally meet you Mrs. Gerrard. Turn over on your stomach. You're under arrest." Holstering her weapon, Nikki stepped over the drunkenly compliant woman, applying handcuffs with a certain amount of satisfaction.

Crashing into stateroom # 1, Don came face to face with the man his team had been tracking for weeks now. Garbed elegantly in navy blue Italian silk, Amir Sahar sat calmly in one of the salon's wing chairs, crystal tumbler of Glenlivet by his side. His face bore an expression of self-satisfied untouchability, completely at ease. By the way this guy acted, Don thought, you'd think he got raided by the FBI on a daily basis.

"Amir Sahar, FBI. You're under arrest for kidnapping , the attempted kidnapping of a federal agent and suspicion of possession of and trafficking in biological weapons. I'm sure there'll be more but that's good for starters."

"I have diplomatic immunity. I am officially under the protection of the Afghan flag. You have no authority to arrest me. I insist that you contact my consulate so that they may provide me the proper legal protections until such time as it may convenient for me to return to my country." Sahar's measured tenor sounded almost bored.

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that. Just because you're all sexed up to the Afghan government doesn't mean they're gonna want to kiss you back. Stand up" Eppes said shortly, "let me see those hands." Cuffing Sahar roughly, Don nudged him out of the room.

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Ducking low to remain out of sight, Johnson moved quickly up the stairs from storage to crew level and then to the staterooms. He had business to take care of.

He'd hired on at Global ProtectX after being kicked out of the Marine Corp for assaulting his lieutenant eighteen months ago. A buddy got him the Global slot. One of the first persons he'd met, curiously enough, was a tall, dark-skinned Arab looking guy wearing a set of threads and a watch that probably cost more money than Johnson would ever see. Later he'd found out the dude's name, Amir Sahar. Some kind of big wheel in the arms dealing game. Summoned to Sahar's office, Johnson was ushered in after being made to wait for an hour. Seated in front of the antique mahogany desk, Johnson had waited for the man seated in front of it, high-backed leather chair turned away, to address him for another thirty minutes. Finally deigning to notice, Sahar regarded him contemptuously. Johnson felt a chill. The guy had the flat black eyes of a great white.

"Michael Johnson, twenty-seven years old, from Wheeling, West Virginia. Dishonorably discharged from the United States Marine Corp for striking a superior officer, and other offenses. Interesting that you should find your way here to us at Global ProtectX."

Johnson started to speak but those shark's eyes killed the words in his throat. Sahar reached into his desk's center drawer, extracting a single sheet of buff colored paper. He stabbed Johnson with his deadly gaze once more.

"The 'official' reason given for your separation from the Marine Corp was the physical assault of your lieutenant, a young man from a wealth family. I wonder" Johnson's interviewer posited sardonically, "would they have simply discharged you from the service were the full extent of your transgressions, particularly those committed in Iraq, made known to them."

"I, I, I don't know what you mean, what, I don't know what you're talking about" Michael Johnson stammered, wanting out now, but afraid to leave.

"Mr. Johnson, do not make the mistake of taking me for a fool" Sahar answered, pushing the buff colored sheet of paper across the desk at him. "I sure this will be of interest to you. When you have completed it, you and I will discuss certain 'particular duties' to be included in the tasks you will be responsible for as an employee of Global ProtectX."

Johnson read. Then he and Amir Sahar discussed his 'particular duties' for Global ProtectX, at some length.

Now, aboard the _Mariana Star_ with the FBI closing in, Johnson prepared to carry out those duties. The father would be easy, the kid even more. Johnson wouldn't really mind doing the kid. The little pisser had kicked him in the nuts once when Johnson went to give the kid one of his shots. Listening to the firefight encroaching, Johnson decided to save the kid for later. Kids gave a guy a much better bargaining position. He'd learned that lesson in Iraq. Doing the fed, now that was going to be the best of all. He smiled coldly, bracing his shoulder against the cabin door, and flinging it open.

"Time to die, wisea…" his vengeful pronouncement went unfinished. They were gone! The room was empty! The doc, his kid, that FBI puke, all gone! Impossible! Where were they?! Where?!

"I know you're in here. Don't make me look for you! You make me find you and it's gonna be slow! I'll make it hurt! I promise! Come out and I let the kid live!" he lied. Prowling the floor angrily, Johnson knew his three targets only had so much space to hide in. On one knee by the bed, He was about to check under it when a sound from the bathroom whipped his head around. With a sadistic grin, he headed in the direction of the sound. Reaching the ten-thousand dollar shower curtain with its eighteen carat gold in-laid thread, he ripped it aside to reveal Conrad Gerrard and his terror-stricken son.

Raising his gun to Conrad Gerrard's forehead, Johnson said, still smiling vindictively, "All in a day's work, doc. Been nice knowin' ya."

"Bet he can't say the same" said Colby Granger from behind him. Johnson spun, trying to alter his aim in time. Colby didn't give it to him.

Ten seconds later, David Sinclair and Liz Warner arrived to find the scientist and his son holding one another as they wept. A very deceased Michael Johnson leaked blood onto the imported bathroom tiles, and a thoroughly tenderized Colby was braced against the wall. Johnson's checking the bathroom first instead of under the bed gave Colby time to retrieve his gun from his stashed pack.

"Took you long enough" Colby muttered, at the ragged edge of his endurance, sliding down until he reached the floor.

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The mop up was mercifully brief. Following the arrests of Sahar and Alison Gerrard, the remaining Global ProtectX gunmen rapidly threw in the towel, choosing prison over dead. The yacht's crew and warehouse workers were also taken into custody as a precaution. Conrad and Christopher Gerrard were, for the time being, placed under FBI protection. The doctor, Don pointed out, had a great many serious questions to answer. After learning of Chris Gerrard's unique medical condition, the father and son were escorted under guard, to UCLA Medical Center.

After seeing Colby and a hovering David Sinclair into an ambulance, Don and his remaining agents headed back to L.A, wondering how close they were to the end of this increasingly complicated case.

Don's arrest of Sahar produced an immediate benefit. A small amount of the temporary antidote being injected into the Gerrard kid was found in the arms dealer's stateroom. The chemists at UCLA were confident enough duplicate serum could be duplicated to keep Chris going until a cure for his poisoning could be developed. Upon hearing the news, Dr. Gerrard came close to a total collapse with relief. The man had done a copious amount of babbling about how he'd done terrible things, but had no choice with his son's life at stake. Now back in L. A., Don decided the hour had come for Dr. Gerrard to come clean. He gave Gerrard time to see his child settled into a bed at the med center and sleeping peacefully, then, the scientist was brought to the Bureau offices and parked in interrogation.

"Dr. Gerrard, your son is safe. Sahar and your wife are in custody. You've done a lot of talking about having to do terrible things out of fear for the life of your son. The people that hurt him can't do it anymore. We got your little candygram at the hotel. It's time for you to tell us what it means. I want it all, doctor. Every line, every chapter, every verse. Don't leave so much as a syllable out, and don't for one second consider lying to me."

Gerrard studied his hands, clasped together on the table, then looked up to meet the flinty gaze of his interrogator, then Liz Warner and Nikki Bentancourt, also present. He swallowed hard and began.

"My field of expertise is in bio-weaponry. How to create and counter-act them. Six months after I met my wife at a fund raiser, Amir Sahar showed up at my home. Somehow, he'd learned my identity and connection to the United States Government and my work with AMRID. I, I later found out this information came from Alison. They are, she and Sahar…" Gerrard hated to make the demeaning admission, "they're lovers. Alison pursued and married me on his instructions. On our 'honeymoon' I discovered why. Sahar showed me pictures of my son, at school. He explained to me what he required of me, and that my son's life was dependent on my compliance. Don't you see, I had no choice! They would have killed my son! My son!"

"Doctor, what exactly is it Sahar forced you to do? That note you note you left in the shower mentions lots of other families grieving for their sons." Don slammed a hand, palm flat down on to the table,. Gerrard jumped, drawing back from the angry agent. "Enough with this vague crap. If you did something that's gonna get people killed…What did you do for him?!" Don banged the table again, hard. "What?!!"

Haltingly, filled with shame for his actions and afraid of how his listeners would react, Gerrard told them. "I've engineered several biological agents. Compounds that can be deployed as weapons. Quite lethal, fast acting and all capable of being used target specific. They can be narrowly applied to any desired group."

"Any desired group?" Nikki echoed. "Sahar has some buyers for this stuff already doesn't he? Some 'desired group' these compound of yours are going to be used against, doesn't he? And you know who it is? Don't you?!"

Gerrard shrank.

"Answer the question,doctor! Who are Sahar's buyers? Who is targeted to get hit with this stuff? Who?! You tell me right now or if we don't stop this in time, I'm gonna see you charged with as many counts of murder as there are deaths! Talk to me!" Don yelled, his face two inches from Conrad Gerrard's.

"American soldiers! American soldiers in Afghanistan. The group Sahar's buyers are planning to use it against are troops in Afghanistan. They contacted Sahar after the build up was announced. He has strong ties to Al Qaeda and the Taliban. My wife, My…wife has been his lover for years. He ordered her to develop a relationship with me, to marry me. That's when they revealed their intentions for me and for my son. I'm sorry. God forgive me! I'm sorry!"

"This devil's brew you cooked up for him, you know where it's going? How it's gonna get to Afghanistan? Do you?!"

"No! No! I swear" Gerrard screamed, equal parts guilt and fear. "I, I, I don't know!" He was anguished, breath coming in harsh gasps. "Wait, I, I overheard a conversation between he and Alison. I couldn't hear it all but I did hear them mention the port of Marseille. I don't see how that will help. There are so many possibilities!"

As Gerrard finished speaking, Don, Nikki and Liz all arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously. "Charlie!" they said in unison.

_Twenty four nerve wracking hours later, a sleepless Don Eppes received word that Amir Sahar's shipment of death had been intercepted thru the joint efforts of his brother's math genius, the Marseille police and Interpol. After informing his team, including the hospitalized Colby, he went home to crash into bed. Amir Sahar faired not so well. Having his ties to Al Qaeda and the Taliban revealed resulted in (for him) the very disappointing loss of his diplomatic immunity. Also in his becoming a pariah. Deserted by his former protectors, Sahar's untouchablility vanished like a magician's assistant, never to return. Don was there to see to Sahar's transfer to the federal detention center. Don would've said he was trying not to look insufferably smug, but no one asked him._

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**Author's Note: Nope this isn't the end. My tale is not quite done. Stay**

**Tuned. –T. **


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Don't… do I really have to say this again. Yes! For the sake of the lawyers, I do! Don't own any part of Numb3rs or the characters. Wish I did, but I don't, darn it. **

Granger wished guiltily for a gang of bank robbers. Or drug dealing bikers. Or a militant

ring of meth smoking Uzi packing grandmas. Anything but what he had now, which was a quiet, calm first week back at work. After being out five weeks recovering initially from

surgery to remove a rambunctious appendix, and then from the pounding received

aboard the _Mariana Star_, he was, at last, cleared for duty. He went from being very glad

about that to climbing the walls of his glass enclosed cubicle lickety split. He

couldn't decide which was worse; the backlog of forms foisted on him by the human

resources gnomes, or the pile of reports that stubbornly refused to go away. L.A.

seemed to be going thru a freak period of tranquility. Plenty of murders and robberies,

but LAPD caught those. Lucky jerks. No federally jurisdictional mayhem happened along to rescue

him from paperwork hell.

Realizing he was on the brink of a full blown pout, Colby decided another cup of

coffee was in order. By way of consolation, at least this pot he could make himself, and

therefore, properly. A small concession, but sometimes a man had to take what he could

get. He'd poured himself a cup and was manning up for another go at the smirking paper monster on his desk, when his phone buzzed.

"Granger"

"Walton" it was Kerri. Colby could hear the smile in her voice. Whatever demon that had descended on her a few days ago seemed to have gone on its way. 'Hi baby. Am I pulling you away from browbeating the truth out of some law breaking low-life?"

"I wish. The most excitement I've had all morning was my computer freezing solid in the middle of a download. Everybody's out on the street except me. Or in court.

You have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice. What's up?"

"What would you say to a weekend at Rincon Point, surfer dude? My boss, or rather his wife's family, has this pretty nice little private beach house very near there and he's offered to let me use it for a couple of days. I think he's feeling guilty about sucking up a bit too publicly to certain people and he's trying to make up for it. Whatever, I don't really care. I intend to take advantage of it before he comes to his senses. I'm allowed to invite a guest if I want and you're the first person I thought of. How 'bout it? Think you'll be able to get away?"

"Oh, baby, that sounds fantastic. Being alone with you all weekend sounds even better. I'm pretty sure getting away won't be a problem. I'm still renting while my lawyer fights with the insurance company over who gets to buy me a new truck, but what time should I pick you up?"

"Let's get an early start. Pick me up at eight. This is gonna be great! See you tonight." She was gone. All of a sudden, the mountain of files on his desk didn't seem to bother him so much anymore.

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With a burst of focused energy that his boss and teammates were probably still trying to figure out back in L.A., Granger had doggedly steamrolled the stack of bureaucratic dross until the last of it finally lay in a vanquished heap in his out tray. Then, before any of the others could proffer any different plans for his Saturday and Sunday, grabbed his jacket and virtually sprinted for the elevator. Throwing a hasty "going to Rincon Point for the weekend with Kerri, gotta pack!" back towards their general vicinity, he was out of there. Stopping by his apartment he grabbed his wetsuit (couldn't help remembering the last time he'd worn it), and enough clothes and personal items to tide him over till Monday. Dialing Kerri's number, the barely half a ring had him smiling.

"Hello! Colby?"

"You sound as if you could practically run all the way to Rincon Point without touching the ground! I take it you're all ready to go?"

"Are you kidding? You might not even have to stop! Just slow down, I'll dive in thru the window! See you soon!"

"You bet! Roger Kendall's wife's beach house, here we come!" Colby hung up, set his alarm, snagged his duffle and board and left.

Grinning like a pair of randy, hooky playing teenagers the entire trip, Granger and Kerri Walton made the miles to Santa Barbara's Rincon Point in nothing flat. A brief stop at a fresh food market for groceries barely postponed the start of their weekend. Waiting until he pulled to a stop at the front of their deserted, but nicely appointed temporary digs, Kerri

jumped out excitedly. Running up the short flight of wooden steps, she used the borrowed keys and threw open the door.

Perfect, she thought. The place had that delicately balanced mix of comfortable pampering and homey down to earth that only money could pull off without making it look too obvious. Deactivating the security system with the code she'd gotten from Kendall, she turned around, hearing Colby bringing up the rear. He had both bags, his and hers, in addition their foodstuffs. He deposited the food in the refrigerator and bags on the floor, puffing slightly from the exertion.

Dredging up a completely feigned look of shame, she said "I could've brought some of that in myself, honey, but thanks." She smiled winsomely.

"Um hum" Colby answered back, not fooled for a second. "You owe me a really good tip, lady."

"Sorry it's so late. Probably won't get your board in the water until morning."

"Not a problem" he said, eyeing her hungrily. "I see something else I'm pretty sure I'm gonna enjoy getting into."

"Catch me first!" Kerri dared him, turning to dash for the bedroom. It wasn't even close.

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Mind swimming in the intoxicating scent of the woman he held in his arms, Colby gently caressed the silken smoothness of Kerri's breasts from behind. Her soft, whimpering moans grew more insistent as his hand traveled the length of her body to end at her sensual center. She thrust herself forward, meeting his questing fingers with urgency. His own inarticulate vocals were swallowed up in the intensely pleasurable moment as Kerri managed, with the last of her ability to mumble out in a hoarse whisper, "Now, baby! Oh, now! Please now!"

Colby chuckled wickedly as he readily complied. Rincon Point held much more than one teeth rattling rush.

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Saturday dawned a beautiful, sunny day, puffy white cumulonimbus clouds dotting the pastel blue sky. A brisk breeze promised some fairly decent wave action, Colby hoped, donning his wetsuit with anticipation. Kerri, after whipping up the kind of breakfast for him that he normally only dreamed of, was back in the kitchen. He refused to let her handle the clean up all alone, but then she'd promptly shooed him out after the last dish was dried and put away. With the door closed on his rampaging curiosity, he could hear her humming softly. He knew what _that_ meant. Lunch could very well make breakfast pale in comparison. The aromas were driving him crazy. Dating a woman who loved to cook was almost better than putting a flying tackle on a fleeing suspect, almost. His workouts might be more strenuous, but his mouth and stomach were very happy campers. So much so, that should he and Kerri ever call it quits, he was fairly certain that both his mouth and his stomach, if they could, would sue him in court to remain with her. Good thing leaving her wasn't anywhere near his mind. This was the ideal time to tell her how he felt. That he was in love with her. He'd made up his mind to do it before they left L.A. He was still thinking about it when the kitchen door opened, and Kerri appeared, a large wicker basket hooked over one arm. She hand him the basket, weightier than he expected. A checkered blanket and snorkeling gear were draped over her other arm. She was wearing her own wetsuit, her bikini showing underneath.

"Thought maybe we could both get in a good day in the water and then have a picnic."

"Sounds like a plan. After you" he told her with a twinkle in his green eyes.

"Oh no" she waggled a finger at him. "After you! You tend to get ideas when you walk behind me!"

"You're complaining? "Now, baby! Oh, now!" His teasing was rewarded with a becoming crimson blush.

"Colby! We can't spend the entire weekend in bed!"

"Why not?"

She laughed and pointed out towards the beach. "Go!"

He did, pausing to lightly tap her shapely rear with a wolfish howl. She pushed him outside, giggling.

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He studied them, laughing and holding one another, happily oblivious to the rest of the world. Her midnight hair, the focal point of many dreams, was bound into a long braid trailing down her back. Seeing the woman respond to her lover's touch so eagerly, the man's hands roaming her body at will, threw the watcher into a paroxysm of fury. He nearly gunned the car's engine. It would have been so easy as they crossed in front of him, so intent on each other. They were completely unaware of his presence. His hand caressed the key resting in the ignition, allowing his fantasy to progress. Vehicle screaming across the asphalt lot, plowing down the grassy slope and thru the golden sands of the beach until both objects of his mania lay beneath the grinding wheels of the motorized monster. It was that image, that of her crushed, bleeding, dying form relaxing as the light faded from her dead eyes that enabled him to regain control. She deserved, they both did, deserved to pay for his pain, which they were at least partially the source of, but they should have to suffer first. He needed that, they owed it to him. He kept track until the two disappeared from sight, rounding the outcrop of small trees and driftwood, holding hands. Then, with plans of his own, oh such plans, to fulfill, he drove away. There was much to accomplish. The to do list was lengthy. Best to begin.

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_**SEVEN DAYS AGO…**_

The bottle of vodka shattered as Jack Lucern hurled it violently against the wall of his three story townhouse. He'd already killed most of it. The sight of liquor and glass staining the art decorated walls of his bedroom barely made a dent in his anger and resentment.

"That self-serving spineless prick fires me?! Me?! If it wasn't for me he'd still have his nose up half the anal canals in California, sniffing and licking around for campaign contributions, and he fires me?!" Jack punched another wall savagely, then seizing a lamp from a nearby table, flung it thru the room's open French doors, watching sourly as it sailed downward to end in pieces on the polished sandstone patio. Stoked with wrath, he walked over to the night table next to his bed, opening its single drawer. He kept it there, dull matte finish gleaming ominously. In his drunken, angry state, he stumbled downstairs, finally winding up in his living room, filled with reminders of his past successes. He took distempered aim at one of them, a picture of him shaking hands with Roger Kendall on Jack's first day as a federal prosecutor. The shot made a huge sound in the emptiness of the large room. It was satisfying, seeing Kendall's duplicitous face demolished by the impact of the nine-millimeter shell. It made him feel so much better that he continued, firing round after round into the collection of photographs around him. He stopped upon reaching one of he and his sister, Alison.

She had much to do with his current disgrace. His dear sister deserved special treatment. Her hysterical blathering to the federal authorities had implicated him in her dealings with Amir Sahar. Not that it was untrue, Jackson was involved. Until his sister's pathetic attempts to save herself, he'd been able to conceal that fact. No more. Jack walked over to the picture, placing the barrel of the gun flush to the glass protecting the picture. "This one's for you, Ali" he slurred, and fired. Or at least he tried to. A dry click signified the weapon was empty. In disgust he threw it away from him. He swayed unsteadily in the center of the floor, trying to make up his mind what to do next. A hammering knock at his front door took the decision out of his hands.

"Jackson Lucern! This is the FBI! We have a search warrant! Open the door! Now!" Jack recognized the voice. Agent Don Eppes. After days of contentious battles between his family's battalion of attorneys and the government's own, they were finally here. Soon they would be inside his home, pawing thru his belongings like starving dogs tearing into a juicy bone. Leaving their grubby marks on his finely crafted furnishings in a search for evidence to back up Alison's allegations. Angered at his refusal to help her, she was determined to drag him down with her. Too bad she was beyond his reach. Right now, strangling the life out of her seemed the perfect panacea for his troubles. While he was busy contemplating the pleasantness of that thought, the front door crashed inward, locks and wood splintered by the cylindrical steel FBI battering ram. The sudden, forceful entry rocked the drink sodden man back on his heels. Off balance, Jack fell to the oriental rug covered floor. The next thing he knew, Eppes and another agent Lucern heard referred to as David were standing over him, gloating. More personnel poured in behind them.

David Sinclair yanked the former A. D.A. off the floor, handcuffing him as Don formally served the warrant, rather warrants. The team had more than one reason for their presence in Lucern's pricey surroundings.

"Jackson Lucern" Don was all business. "This is a warrant for a full search of your property, including any automobiles, and authorizing us to confiscate any computers and files in your possession. We also have a warrant for your arrest." Eppes tucked the arrest warrant into the pocket of Jack's shirt. "Get him out of here."

As he was led out, Jack saw, compounding his humiliation, the two female agents he'd so enjoyably fenced with weeks before. Both were expressionless, but Jack could tell how pleased they were. His rage smoldered.

Twenty four hours later, after bailing out, Jackson checked out the three stories of wreckage left in the wake of the FBI search. The townhouse was a complete mess, cabinets and closets denuded, drawers pulled out, papers littering the floors and desks. Jack noted the absence of his trio of computers, two laptops and a desktop model, all high functioning machines. They were still in the hands of the Bureau's computer forensics experts, who were scouring them for evidence. Good luck, Jack snorted bitterly. He'd used the time his lawyers were occupied with fighting the government's request for the warrants to have the computers scrubbed. The FBI techs were sure they could reconstruct the data. He would have to hope the government geeks were wrong about that. There was no time to worry about it. He had more important scores to settle.

During his time in custody, Jackson had overheard and learned enough from being interrogated to know that his present difficulty was largely due to the efforts of an agent by the name of Colby Granger. It was Granger's persistence in finding Christopher Gerrard and his father that resulted in the FBI raid on the _Mariana Star_. Colby Granger was also Kerri Walton's lover. The man she had rejected _him_ in favor of. That set Jack to thinking of Kerri. She probably supposed that he, Jack, was no longer a threat to her. That with his own troubles, Jack's determination to force her to give herself to him no longer existed. She was wrong. He still very much intended to have her. She would not escape him. Fending off the FBI and his former colleagues consumed both time and energy, so his lustful pursuit of her submission had to be put on hold. He had time for her again now, and her G-Man boyfriend. He had something else too. An edge that none of the enemies confronting him suspected. Digging the phone out from under a pile of papers, he dialed a number from memory.

"Hello?" a gruff voice answered.

"This is Jackson Lucern. Do you have the latest disc?"

"Of course sir, but I think…"

"Bring it to me" Jack ordered.

"Yes sir, but Mr. Lucern, I think…"

"I said bring it, NOW!!!" Jack roared into the phone, slamming the receiver down.

Reaching out to start the car, Clarence sighed and shook his head. He liked taking orders from pretty boy even less than taking them from the ice queen. Problem was with Global about to get a procto exam by the Justice Department, his options were severely limited right at the moment. He tucked the surveillance disc produced by the unseen electronic visitors attached to Colby Granger's windows into an inner jacket pocket and drove to meet his employer.

Five days passed. During that time, Jackson Lucern's golden existence crumbled. His political aspirations suffocated together with his career as his connection to Sahar came to light, courtesy of his sister and the press. Jack as well as Alison were excoriated by the remainder of their family, cut off from the vast majority of the Lucern financial assets and legal expertise. Worst of all, the rabid L. A. tabloid media pounced on the story, plastering his image and his life, including the most sordid parts of it on the front pages of their publications. Receiving the most recent surveillance from the hands of Clarence, Jack listened as the whore and loverboy discussed their trip. Not a bad idea, Lucern concluded. A romantic getaway was just what he needed. Rincon Point it would be. Regretfully, a good time would not be had by all.

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Colby dropped the wicker basket, former receptacle of their delicious lunch onto the deck. Running in place, he thrust both arms into the air, pumping his fists like a victorious boxer.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner and still champion, Coooolllbyyy Graaaaaangerrr!!!!" he boomed out for a non-existent audience.

Kerri came running up the steps ten seconds later, having some difficulty, trying to run, laugh and breathe all at once. "No fair! Your legs are a lot longer than mine! Besides, you cheated!"

"Did not!"

"Oh, you so cheated! What would you call it? You waited until we were halfway back, took off running and yelled "dibs on the shower!"

"Strategy! Ha ha!" Colby, who had the key, slipped inside and sprinted for the bathroom, locking the door once he was there. Kerri banged on it in mock anger.

"Colby Granger, open this door, you cur. I have sand in places sand was never meant to be!"

A hairline crack appeared. "If I let you in what's in it for me?" Colby taunted.

Kerri took a step back, lazily unzipping her wetsuit and slipping off her bikini top. No doubt about it, Granger reflected, taking it in, Rincon Point had some amazing views.

"You win" He moved aside, allowing her in the bathroom. She sashayed past him, delicately manicured fingernail tracing his bottom lip. "Thank you, honey."

He was still standing in the doorway. With a triumphant yell, she pushed him into the bedroom and locked _him_ out, peels of laughter sounding thru the barrier.

"Hey! Come on, no fair! Now who's cheating?!"

"Not cheating! Strategy!" The shower gushed to life.

Outflanked by a girl! The shame of it! Grinning, Colby flopped down on the bed to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Kerri materialized, one fluffy peach colored towel covering her body, another wrapped around her mane of inky locks.

"Well, finally! I thought I was gonna have to take the door off!"

"Not necessary, baby." She beamed toothsomely. "All yours!" She took his place on the bed, intending to enjoy the spectacle as he disrobed. He smirked knowingly. She wanted to tease? He could play.

Copying her earlier movements, Colby unzipped his wetsuit in a leisurely manner, exposing his tanned, athletic body inch by inch. He kept his emerald eyes on her, gauging her reaction as he got naked in front of her with excruciating slowness. Suppressing a smile at her palpable eagerness to see more, he worked the zipper down completely, then shrugged out of the neoprene, kicking it aside. Devilish impulse taking control, he did an about-face, and with his back to her, removed the swim trunks he'd wore underneath. He looked back at her and almost laughed aloud. Kerri was sitting on the side of the bed, jade stare working up and down his body, biting her lower lip. He did another one eighty, took the half dozen steps over to the bed and helped her stand. Her eyes were bright with desire.

Her mouth tasted of the sun-ripened strawberries they'd enjoyed for lunch. Kerri clung to him, feeling his hands and mouth stroke her body, playing her like a finely tuned instrument.

Every part of him she touched felt molten, liquid beneath her fingertips. He melded her to him. She could feel how much he wanted her. She wanted him so much she trembled with it.

"Kerri? Baby?" He murmured.

"Y…Ye…Yes?"

He jumped back playfully. "I really hope you left me some hot water, 'cause I'm covered in sand from head to toe!" He zoomed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut, before she could react, leaving her, mouth open, in the act of removing the plush towel covering her body. She heard the shower begin to run again. Her passion confused brain was in the act of trying to sort out the situation when the door swung open again. Colby stood there, snickering lecherously.

"Heh, heh, heh. Gotcha, didn't I! Get in here woman!" He pulled her in, sans towels, fusing their bodies together. Backing her into the shower, he left a downward path of kisses as he settled on to the slatted shower seat. Kerri joined him, lowering herself until she straddled him and scissoring her legs behind his back. He leaned back, lifted his hips and…

"Oh, Colby! Baby! Uh, uh…ummm..…that, that, that's… Ohhhhhh!…Aaaaaahhhhhhh!"

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Upon emerging from the lusciously erotic shower, Colby had a surprise for his beautiful companion.

Both dressed in jeans, t-shirts and flip-flops, he directed her to a stool next to the kitchen's oversized island.

"You have been creating these magnificent meals for me since we met. My turn. I have a surprise for you, Chef Walton. I am going to make for you tonight my dad's prize winning chili recipe, complete with secret combination of spices. You need to do nothing except sit back and enjoy."

For the next forty-five minutes Kerri looked on as he chopped, mixed, stirred and seasoned, allowing her to get no closer than her island perch. He could sense that she itched to contribute her culinary two cents. Her every suggestion or offer to help, however, was either ignored or lovingly rebuffed by Colby with a "thanks honey, but I got this" and a kiss.

He ultimately solved the problem by giving her a job to do.

"Please, baby, set the table for me, huh? It's just about ready. Thanks." He scooted her out, dishes, linen napkins and silverware in hand. Five minutes later he joined her, steaming crock of chili making its way to the table. Granger dished up a bowlful, presenting it to Kerri with a flourish. He waited expectantly as she took the first spoonful and watched as her face melted into an expression of ecstasy.

'Um, aw Colby, this is great! I think this is some of the best chili I've ever had, and I mean it! I not just saying it, this stuff is really good! Um, um. This is your dad's recipe?"

"Yep. Prize winning, literally. That chili took first place at many a chili cook-off. Dad used to knock people's socks off with it. You really like it?"

"Um hum. This is sooo good" Kerri mumbled around a mouthful. "I'm not going to talk anymore for a while honey. I really want to concentrate on this, ok?" she tucked into the bowl with pleasure, savoring every bite. She truly did think it was delicious. Pleased at having done so well, Colby dished up his own bowlful and started to eat. To compliment the meal, there was beer for him and a glass of red wine for her. Following several minutes of satisfied silence, scraping the bottom of her bowl, she held it out to him.

"Please, sir, can I have some more?" Kerri hammed it up with her best Oliver Twist imitation.

Colby stood and started for the kitchen. "Sure, honey." As he put a hand on the swinging door, a wave of dizziness nearly knocked him off his feet. He staggered, gripping the wall for support. His knees buckled as the dizziness grew worse. He tried to tell Kerri but nothing came out. Trying as hard as he could, he was able to make it almost back to the table. Thru his distorted vision and fading hearing, he loosely comprehended the alarming fact that Kerri appeared to be no better off than he was.

"C…Col…Colby, I don't feel so good. Wh…what…what's wrong? I..I... Please, I need so…sssome help"

Colby, struggling to stay upright, couldn't help her. He took a final step and dropped like an abandoned marionette. The last thing he heard was an unfamiliar male voice derisively address Kerri.

"Hello, princess." Jack Lucern loomed above the vulnerable woman, waiting patiently as she fought and lost against the powerful drug invading her system.

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	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Really quick. Don't have any ownership of anything to do**

**with Numb3rs. Ok, now back to the story. **

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All in all a good nights work, Jack thought. Everything was going according to plan. He smiled acidly. That to do list of his was getting shorter and shorter. Carefully observing the speed limit, (it wouldn't do to be stopped by the CHP right now would it?) he sped thru the darkness. Windows of the leased SUV all down, the night air came streaming in, cooling him and passing over the insensate form of Kerri, slumped next to him in the passenger seat. He reached over, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. He was not worried that either his touch or the rush of air would wake her. With the amount of sedative both his victims had in them, neither would be coming around for quite some time, no matter what.

Jack was still marveling at how easy it had all been so far. Bidding his time until the slut and her paramour were safely away to frolic in the sand and surf for the day, he'd entered the beach house. Getting in was the easiest part. Roger Kendall fiercely desired re-election. Fawning over Jack like a bootlicker born, Kendall offered the beach house as a periodic escape on several occasions. One of those times, Jack simply duplicated the keys. He hadn't worried about the alarm. Kendall never updated the code and it wasn't activated anyway.

Jackson knew to make sure his intended targets were well dosed with the undetectable drug. He wanted them totally out of it until it suited him for them to be awake. Not sure of what they would be eating or drinking, or how much, he settled for a tried and true delivery system. He knew it would work because he'd used it before, effectively. Laying out every piece of flatware he found in the kitchen, he thoroughly coated every knife, fork and spoon with the compound. Next he doctored the cooking utensils, and for good measure, a fair number of the dishes, pots and pans. Taking his time, he worked methodically, being certain to leave no trace of his visit. There was no reason to hurry. They wouldn't be back until sunset. Finishing up, he retreated to the anonymity of his rented vehicle and waited.

Witnessing the couple's return, watching with the aid of high-tech binoculars, he saw them retreat behind the closed door of the bathroom, locked in a vulgar embrace. His imagination tortured him with the things they were no doubt doing to one another.

"Scream for him now, sweet thing" he told Kerri silently. "You can scream for me later." He had such plans for her, especially after today. Once loverboy was permanently out of the way, Jack would be able to take all the time he wanted with her. Lots of time to do anything he wanted. Things she would beg him to do no more of before he was finished with her. He fondled himself, fantasizing.

Hours later, he saw Kerri Walton's lover emasculate himself by cooking their evening meal. More proof, Jack felt, that the man she'd chosen was no man at all. It was always a woman's place to serve a man, never the other way around. Women constantly needed reminding of who was the master in a relationship. Jack could do that for her. He was good at it.

There, the preparation completed, they began eating. Shouldn't be long now. A scant fifteen minutes later, they were ready for him. Bypassing the recumbent form of Colby Granger, Jack proceeded to the helpless Kerri. He smiled at her terror, evident even in her dazed condition.

"Hello, princess" he greeted her coldly.

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Waking still dizzy and sick to her stomach from the drug inside her, Kerri opened her eyes partially.

"Where…a…am…I? What ha…hap…happened??? C…Col…Colby? Wh…where are you? Wha... what…happened? Colby?"

Why didn't he answer? Where was he? Her confusion tripled. She sat up, regretting it immediately as her queasy stomach reacted. Her head spinning, Kerri forced her body into a sitting position. Opening her eyes all the way, she looked around. She didn't know this place. This room. Where was she?! And where was Colby?! The memories came crashing back. Oh, God. Jack. At the beach house. Colby lying still on the floor. Was he alive?! What did Jack do to Colby? To her? WHERE WAS SHE?? Was Colby alive?!! Please, please let him be alive! She suppressed a sob. In the dark, still groggy, she couldn't tell if she was alone. She decided to test it.

"Colby?" she said aloud.

"No, princess" Jackson Lucern's voice answered. "He won't be attending tonight's festivities."

Her heart thundered in her chest as he walked out of the blackness and into view.

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The unholy whine of the bale crusher dragged Colby from his drug induced stupor by brute force. Coming to disoriented and ill within the confines of the junked car, it had taken him a while to reconstruct the night's events. In stages, he remembered their enjoyable dinner, and then the incapacitating surge of dizziness taking him to the floor, knocking him out.

He tensed as he recalled the sound of a strange man speaking to Kerri. "Hello princess?" Colby had no idea who the stranger was, but that person was undoubtedly also responsible for he, Colby being trapped in the trunk of the soon to be destroyed wreck. The stranger unquestionably wanted him dead. And what did this unknown man want for Kerri? What had he done with her? What was happening to her right now? He had to get out of this car. He started pounding and hollering as loud as he could, trying to get somebody's attention but only succeeded in yelling himself hoarse. Exhausted but afraid for Kerri and himself, he didn't stop. She was in the hands of a probable rapist and killer. He kept it up, depleting the meager oxygen reserves in the small space. He felt around for anything to pry his way out, but found nothing. He could hear the machine getting close. Very close.

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"I told you we'd be together, didn't I, princess? It's our destiny. Jack and Kerri. Kinda has a ring to it, don't you think?"

"What did you do to Colby? Where is he? Where is he?! What did you do to him?!" Kerri screamed at Lucern, her fear for Colby near paralyzing.

"Ttttttttttt." Jack clucked his tongue. Reaching down, he pulled her to her feet roughly. "Sweet thing, if this relationship is going to work, you and I are going to need some ground rules. Number one is you have to learn to speak to your man with respect."

"You're not my man, you pig!" Kerri spat.

With a growl, Jackson slammed her brutally against the wall. Kerri cried out in pain as the back of her head met the unyielding surface.

"I **said **'respect' princess. Don't forget again. Understand?" He waited for her nod. "Excellent. Rule number two. When your man ain't happy, you ain't happy. I'm not happy princess. I don't approve of your present attire. I think I'd like a preview of what I'll be so thoroughly enjoying later." He kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She gagged. He chortled viciously. "So here's what you're going to do. You're going to get out of these off the rack rags" He gestured at her T-shirt and jeans, "and you're going to put on this."

She looked at what he held out to her. Black lace trimmed satin bra, briefs and matching see thru robe.

"After you're properly dressed, you can prepare dinner for me. I'm hungry, and cooking is one of the womanly virtues. I'll allow you to please me there before you please me…elsewhere." He threw the lingerie at her. "You have five minutes to get changed. I'd watch, but, I like to be surprised." He paused at the doorway. "If I need to come back in here, I'll dress you sweet thing, and then, all bets are off. Five minutes." He left. Kerri heard a _snick. _ She was locked in.

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Mac Blukerman was tired, sore and hungry. In the round-the clock, seven day a week, (except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and New Years of course, everybody being way too hung over) operation of Manny's Auto Cemetery and Salvage, Mac was low man on the totem-pole. Which explained why he was here, at eleven thirty at night, loading and crushing car after car into the huge crusher. ("That hummer 'ill do volume work!") his boss Manny like to boast to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. That, and the fact that the only thing waiting for him at home was Charlene. Charlene, who grew more shrill with each passing day, shopped all the time, refused to learn to cook, hated cleaning, never wanted to put out and practically made Mac beg for it when she did. It didn't start out that way, Mac snorted. In the beginning Charlene was hot and ready all day and all night. Sweet and ripe for the plucking. Things only changed after the wedding. That's when Mac realized how much of their dating time included a lot of restaurants and take out. He remembered thinking it hilarious how eager Charlene's daddy seemed to get her married off. Now he knew why. He couldn't even screw around. Charlene might be a lazy, shopaholic shrew, but she was a _crazy_, lazy, shopaholic shrew. One more thing he only discovered after the wedding. He punctuated his sour reminiscing by grabbing another car for the crusher to mash as flat as his chances of getting laid tonight.

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"Time's up, princess. Come on out and give us a fashion show." Jack entered without knocking.

Kerri, dressed in the skimpy lingerie, covered herself as best she could, shielding her breasts with one hand and holding the thigh length robe closed with the other. She'd decided to play along for now. She didn't want to give Jack a reason to put his hands on her again. She also didn't want to gamble on his volatile mental state. She needed to buy time, wait for her opportunity. It would come, and she'd be ready.

"No, no, no, no. No false modesty, princess. We both know you have no problem showing off that luscious body of yours. Give your man a good look. Come on, now, sweet thing. Do it. Right now!" He flared angrily.

Kerri reluctantly dropped her hands to her sides, deliberately refusing to look at him.

"Oh, very nice! Very, very nice indeed!" His lewd appreciation made her want to vomit. "Oh, princess, you look good enough to eat! Matter of fact, why don't we make you the dessert course?" He motioned her out of the room, seizing a handful of hair to smell as she squeezed by, not wanting to touch him.

"Kitchen's that way" He pointed down the hall. "Time to do your duty. Well, part of it, anyway."

She went quickly. The kitchen was her home turf. Friendly territory. There might be something she could use.

He followed, bouncing along on the balls of his feet, enjoying the view. He spared a moment to think about loverboy. By now, Colby Granger should be part of L.A.'s metal landscape. They'd probably never even find his body. Good thing I remembered that interstate car theft case. The owner, Manny Sandoval, picked up the place for a song after his brother-in-law got busted for running a chop shop out of the scrap yard. Now, Jack recalled, Sandoval had the place churning twenty four hours a day trying to make a go of it, including crushing old junk cars. After removing every item from the autos that could possibly be of any use, of course. "Too bad they'll never know about the little investment I made in the business tonight" Jack gloated to himself. "The look on that toad Sandoval's face might actually be worth it."

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_**TWO HOURS AGO…**_

"Alright, pretty boy, where did you get to? Hum?" Clarence muttered under his breath. Back in his car after a long, unpleasant day of dodging the FBI's attempts to talk to him, he fired up the GPS locator system. Back when he was taking orders from the ice queen one of the first things she'd told him to do was keep an eye on her brother.

"He can be a simpleton if left to his own devices for too long. He bears watching." Alison Lucern Gerrard had commented bluntly to Clarence.

A common failing with rich people, in Clarence's opinion. Especially when they hadn't earned it themselves. Typical. Some schmuck goes and busts his hump minting the family fortune and building up the family name. Then, no sooner do the descendants get themselves born, than they start screwing the pooch. Jack Lucern and his sister were no exception. Good thing they both had irrevocable trusts to fall back on, being cut off from the clan coffers and all. Dumb with two D's that pair.

Once online with the system, he set about trying to locate his current paymaster. He didn't really care if Jack got himself sent up the river, but Clarence had done prison (not in the good old USA). He didn't plan on doing it again. If Jackson Lucern was about to take a flying foray into Stupidville, Clarence wanted plenty of lead time, so he could get clear.

The way it was set up, the program tracked Jack's movements everywhere. (Switching it from Lucern's Lexus to the rental involved a few hairy moments!), but it was working just the same. "So, what have we been up to today, Junior? Dare I hope you've spent the day huddled with your lawyers, trying to think of some way to keep the feds from tying your tallywacker into a knot?"

Studying the readout for a few minutes, Clarence was puzzled. Lucern had spent the better part of the day someplace called Rincon Point? Rincon Point? Where had he heard that name before? Rincon Point. Rincon Poi-

Aw, crap. Now he remembered. Rincon Point was on the last surveillance disc he turned over to his wacky employer. The lady D.A. Jackie boy was so hot for and her FBI honey were there. Lucern had followed them. Uh Oh. Why do I think that's a bad thing? Clarence asked the universe. He resumed from the point Jack's electronic tag showed him leaving Rincon Point and heading back for L.A. Mr. Perfect Haircut was on his way back to the city right now. Clarence could pick him up once he arrived and keep an eye on him from there.

It took some doing, but he managed it without too much trouble. Lucern was driving a leased steel blue Land Cruiser. With his GPS helper, Clarence was soon tailing along four vehicles behind, with Jack totally clueless. Odd, it looked like pretty boy had company. That didn't fit, all lathered up over Miss Thing like he was. What gives with the unidentified broad? Then he had another uh oh moment. Pretty boy's female company. Kerri Walton. Had to be. Not her idea either, Clarence figured. And where was the Fed sweetie pie, huh? Just how stupid did you get today, Jackie? Kidnap a federal prosecutor and kill an FBI agent stupid? Huh? I think I'm gonna stick with you until I get some answers.

Clarence followed along, wondering at Jack's peculiar route. He expected pretty to head for the townhouse. Instead, the big SUV stopped in front of someplace called Manny's Auto Cemetery and Salvage. Honking, Lucern waited and then drove inside after the gate trundled open. With it closing behind him, it left his babysitter unable to follow. "What are you doing here, Jackie boy, huh? What brings you to a dump like this?" Clarence speculated out loud.

Lucern reappeared after about twenty minutes, looking like he'd had a strenuous workout, and way too pleased with himself. He ducked to stay out of the headlights but saw enough to confirm Kerri Walton was indeed Jackson Lucern's traveling companion. She looked asleep, no, passed out. Drugged? Possible. Very possible. So, rich boy has the Walton woman doped unconscious in his truck and no sign of the boyfriend. None at all. Clarence, followed the Land Cruiser again, thinking furiously. He couldn't get the salvage yard out of his head. Always in operation with klieg lights blazing the place must be really popular with the neighbors. Not to mention the huge industrial car crusher. The thing must make enough noise to wake the dead. If I'm Jackie boy, Clarence mused, and I've got a kidnapped lady lawyer whacked out on the seat next to me, I don't really want to draw attention to myself. I especially don't take time to visit one of the more undesirable attractions in the city. Several blocks away, he could still hear the machine at work, making that godawful racket. Yet Lucern obviously planned his little drop in. Why? Shouldn't be this hard to figure out. After all, pretty wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Think of the dumbest thing you'd do, he told himself, then multiply by a hundred. A few seconds later, when it finally hit him, Clarence swore. "That stupid, stupid…" How many times did he have to tell them? The feds might come after you for breaking the law, but a good attorney could tap dance you out of all but the worst of it most of the time. Mess with one of their own, however, kill one, and they never let you up. Not that it mattered if the FBI took Jack Lucern down right along with his sister, but, technically, he still counted as Clarence's meal ticket. Become the wife of some four hundred pound tattooed member of the Aryan Brotherhood in federal supermax for taking out an agent? Because of Jackson Lucern? Not in my golden years, pretty. No way. Good thing he had hands free. "Get me a number for the FBI in Los Angeles." Voice activated, the smart phone did his bidding.

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Saturday night, almost ten thirty, David Sinclair thought, and here I am, still at my desk. The rest of the team had started their weekends hours ago. Even Don had departed, murmuring something about plans with Robin Brooks. Liz Warner left looking decidedly forward to the evening. David suspected a hot date. As for Nikki, Ian Edgerton was in town. Enough said. He didn't even want to think about how much fun Colby must be having, holed up in surf city with Kerri Walton. "I'm the only dateless sucker still here wrapping up reports. Just me, myself and I." His day started by interrupting a car jacking on his way to work. It continued with a nasty encounter with a hostile defense attorney from yesterday's court appearance. Just to complete the trifecta, his dinner date cancelled pleading a family emergency. At last, it was time to call it quits. His 302's were a vision of perfection. A pizza, a couple of beers and maybe some UFC. "I'm going over the wall" he said to his desk and phone and stood up. Before he could get away, the phone rang.

"I knew it! I knew I didn't move fast enough!" He considered ignoring it but reluctantly reached for it anyway. "FBI. Agent Sinclair" he answered.

"Hello, Agent Sinclair. Don't talk, just listen. It's a matter of life and death and your partner probably doesn't have the time to spare."

David had no idea who he was listening to. "Who is th-"

"I said listen! If you want to save your buddy's life, you need to get to Lacinta and Morris. To a place called Manny's Auto Cemetery and Salvage. Your partner's trapped in a car headed for the bale crusher. If he's not already dead, he's about to get that way real soon. So if I were you, I wouldn't screw around thinking this was a joke or trying to trace the call. Just get there!" _CLICK! _

David's mystery caller was gone. He took barely a second to process what he'd been told, then ran for the elevator, collecting two other agents still in the office as backup.

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The last car, Mac thought, wedging himself back into the cab of the machine. Manipulating the claw, he grabbed the last piece of metallic flotsam. With this one out of the way, he could, at last, call it a night. With any luck, Charlene would be asleep when he got home. Since he wasn't getting any tonight anyway, he just as soon not have to listen to her penetrating voice. He'd have been done already, but he had to stop and take a leak. The single time he'd simply hopped out and gone whizzing by the old junkers, Manny'd gone ballistic, threatening to fire him, screaming about how it looked unprofessional! Unprofessional? In a scrap yard?! Jeez! But if he lost his job, Charlene would not only tear him a raw, red new one, she'd rub salt in it. Probably on her way to the mall. So, in the interest of self preservation, Mac left the cab of the forklift, with its claw excavator, used to lift the cars onto the crusher's bed. He walked all the way up to the office and used the cramped, none to clean bathroom. Taking his time allowed him to work in an extra break. Then, pushing it as far as he dared, he even snuck in a cup of coffee. When he figured he couldn't put it off any longer, he sauntered back out to the forklift to get done with the last car. He made sure to reinsert the ear plugs Manny insisted all his employees wear out in the yard. He'd hated the things from the beginning, still did, but Mac had to admit they worked good. This car munching beast made more noise than Charlene when he came home toasted. The claw lowered, seizing the car by its roof, slowly shifting into position. Dropping the old heap with a clatter, he watched as the hydraulics closed the cover and the crunching began. One second everything's normal. The next thing he knows, he's staring down the spank me end of a nasty looking gun in the hands of a _seriously_ annoyed black guy. The dude was yanking the plugs out of Mac's ears with the other hand. Mac was thus able to pick up what the guy was yelling. His eyes were big as dinner plates as he froze.

"-SHUT IT OFF! I SAID SHUT IT OFF NOW!! NOW!!! DO IT!!!" The angry gunman was bellowing.

Mac thawed, leaping for the shutoff on the crusher. Within a few seconds, an eerie silence fell over the scrap yard as the customary clanging of the powerful machinery died. Mac, swallowing hard, couldn't take his gaze from the weapon.

Pissed off man produced a badge. Just to give himself something else to look at, Mac gave it a peruse. "Federal Bureau of Investigation" it said. What? What the heck was the FBI doing at Manny's? Clean and above board, Manny constantly swore on the heads of all his children, by both his wife and his girlfriend. NO MORE FUNNY STUFF. NONE. So, what gives? Whatever. It had nothing to do with him! An absolutely one hundred percent law abiding citizen, that's me, he thought. I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear I swear! Fully prepared to grovel to stay out of jail, it took him a few seconds to realize the other man was still yelling instructions at him.

"Get that car out of there! Get it out! Move it!" the agent ordered.

Still petrified, Mac shakily did as he was told, although it was a lot harder getting something out of the crusher than putting it in.

Once the heap landed in the dust, the agent with the gun and the attitude

ran over to it, using the flat of his hand to beat on the squished trunk.

"Colby?!! Colby?!! Answer me! You in there?! Come on, man, answer me!! COLBY!!!" David put his ear to the trunk's surface, praying for a response.

Mac shoved to the side and under watch by another agent, just about got the vapors when one came from the vehicle accompanied by frenzied pounding.

"David! David! Get me out of here! Get me out!" More pounding.

Sinclair looked around for a way to pop the trunk open. He spotted a pile of rebar. He and one of the other agent's each grabbed a length. Working together, they pried and pulled at the mashed down lid until it sprang up. Gasping for air, shuddering with relief, Colby Granger lay entombed.

"Did I ever tell you that you have best timing in the world?" Colby joked weakly as his partner helped him climb from his would be final resting place.

"Yeah, well I almost didn't. Somebody, I, I don't know who tipped us off you were here, about to be turned into a pancake! Colby, what happened? How'd you get here? You're supposed to be in Rincon Point with Kerri!"

"David, he's got Kerri! We gotta get to her! We gotta find her right now! We gotta find her!!" Colby, barely able to stand, clutched at David's shoulder for stability.

"Come on, we gotta go! WE GOTTA GO!! He's got Kerri, man! He's got Kerri!"

"Who's got Kerri, Colby? Who?! Whoever put you in here?! And where are they?! Where are we going?!!" David asked in response.

Colby stopped stock still, gaping at Sinclair in horrified realization. He didn't know! Kerri was at the mercy of someone who had none, and he didn't know how to get to her! _HE DIDN'T KNOW!!!_

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	17. Chapter 17

**This was going to be the last chapter, but I decided to split it, so there's one more.** **The usual disclaimer applies. Don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters, yak yak yak. ..**

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"What do you want?" Kerri asked her captor as they walked into the small kitchen.

"I want you, princess" Jack told her, licking his lips suggestively. He couldn't get enough of her in that outfit. She looked just like he'd always envisioned. Should have done this long ago. Oh, yeah.

'I, I meant to eat." Kerri said, backing away from him. "What, what do you want for me to cook?" She heard herself speaking. She sounded frightened, nervous. Suck it up, Kerri, she told herself. Colby wasn't here. No security guards. Nobody but she and Jack. If she was going to get out of this, get away from him, she had to keep cool. Keep it together.

"I don't know. Hmmm, let me think for a minute." Jack replied, fingers stroking his chin as if in contemplation. "I'll leave that up to you. You're the chef. Actually, preparing meals is one of the few functions you can correctly perform as a woman, isn't it? Most of the time you're too busy trying to prove you can be a better attorney than the boys. You think you're better than me in the courtroom, don't you? Huh, princess?"

A tree stump is better than you in or out of court, she thought. Aloud, she answered, " It doesn't matter what I think anymore, does it? That was then, this is now. How about stir fry? Let me see what's available." She moved to the refrigerator, aware of him tracking her every movement. Opening the door, she found it surprisingly well stocked. Meat, fish, fruits and vegetables. Everything looked fresh. Ditto for the pantry. Somebody lived here. There was even wine chilling in a waist high wine cooler near the kitchen's entrance. Who? Where were they? How did Jack know about this place? She glanced behind her to see him obscenely checking her out as she reached for ingredients from the fridge and cupboards. He was getting worked up. She needed a distraction. "Jack, where are we? Whose house is this?" She had to get him thinking about anything but her.

"This place used to belong to my family. Little weekend getaway spot. We played softball, went swimming. There's a pond not too far away from here. These days the place is in the hands of one of our former housekeepers. She's from India. Sort of a retirement gift, you might say. She brings her grandchildren so the little brats can run around and forget they live in a cramped walkup for a few hours. They were just here last week. I called her yesterday, asked her to stock the place up for me. Told her I was feeling nostalgic. She bought it. You believe that? Prema always did have a soft spot for me." A coarse laugh. "Get to work. I'm starving" He licked his lips again.

Kerri automatically went thru her normal meal prep routine, assembling ingredients, utensils, putting everything in order. Once she'd determined what to prepare and had it all arranged for easy use, she got started. Mind going a million miles per minute she forced herself to remain focused. The chance to escape lay somewhere on the counter before her, in the spices, raw veggies and other items to be used in the dish. Seeing two of them, she began to piece together a plan of action. The timing needed to be perfect. She'd only get one shot.

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"David, I don't know where she is! I don't know! He drugged us! I don't know how! I don't even know who! I don't know!" Colby punctuated his frustration and fear with a furious kick to the car he'd just been freed from. "I have to find her and I don't even know where to start looking!"

Knowing he had to get Colby grounded again, Sinclair started to speak. His ringing phone went first. "Sinclair."

"Hello again, Agent Sinclair." Mister Mysterio. The anonymous tiptster. "Did you get him?"

"Look, who are y…?"

"Did you get him?" the man asked testily.

"Yeah, we got him. He's alive and ok, thanks to you. Like to thank you in person. Who are you?" David tried again.

"Never mind that. Put 'im on. He and I need to palaver. Chop chop, Agent Sinclair. Time's a wastin"

Handing the phone to Granger, he said "This is the guy who told us where to find you."

"Who is this? Who are you? How did you kn…"

The man cut Colby's questions off brusquely.

"No time for twenty questions. Jackson Lucern and your girlfriend are in a cottage just outside the city on Route 19. She's cooking for him right now, but I'm not sure how long that's gonna last."

Clarence, in his car, watching Lucern and the lady lawyer from a small rise overlooking the little house, could just see into the kitchen.

"Listen up, Romeo. This is where it gets good. Get it all right the first time. You won't be hearing from me again."

Speaking in a short, clipped tone, Clarence gave Colby and David precise directions to Kerri Walton. It was up to them now. Don't blow it FBI, he thought. Your lady's runnin' out of road.

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Kerri fought hard to keep her anxiety from showing as she diced, chopped and measured the different vegetables and spices for the large sloping skillet that would be subbing for her wok. She'd chosen a dish with as many different components as possible. Actually an easy recipe to prepare, the more complicated she could make it look, the longer she would have to ready her escape plan. The butcher knife in her hand proved quite a temptation. She forced the idea away. Jack was much stronger than she, not to mention watching her very closely. As casually as possible, she doubled the two crucial ingredients. She couldn't afford to give anything away. Ultimately, everything was ready, and she fired up the burners on the stove and combined the dish's different parts one by one, drawing it out as much as she dared.

"So, what's for dinner, sweet thing? It smells um, um, good. Watching you fix it wearing that makes it even better. Kinda makes me wish dinner was over and we were on to dessert. You know, princess" he stood up, strolling indolently over to stand next to her, "when I was a kid, sometimes, I'd eat dessert first. Maybe I'll do that tonight." He hovered over her, sending a shiver of dread and fear shooting thru every inch of her body. She needed to back him off.

"Jack, I need room to work. If I don't pay attention to everything, something will burn and I'll have to start all over again. You don't want that do you? I thought you said you were hungry." Kerri took in a breath and held it.

He shrugged, feeling in control. "Ok, ok, ok. I forget how fussy you artists can be when you're 'creating'. He sat back down. "Hurry it up. I'm not sure how much longer I can wait for my dessert."

"It…it's almost done. We'll need plates and something to eat with. I don't know where any of that is."

" Plates are on the top shelf, right above your head, princess Forks and spoons are in the pull out drawer to your left."

"I can't reach up there, Jack. I'm not tall enough. Could you please get them for me.?" Kerri asked, trying to make herself sound as meek as possible.

"Of course, sweet thing. See, this is how it should be. When you have the proper attitude towards your man, speak to him the way you should, take care of him like a woman should, it's much better for you, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, Jack. I've had…I guess I've had the wrong…I haven't been looking at this the way I ought to. I'm, I'm sorry. I'll try to do better." She could see him visibly become more relaxed as his massive ego soaked up the words. That's right Jack, tell yourself you've finally boxed me in. That I'm crawling to you because I have nowhere else to go. Let that guard down. Go ahead. Keep right on seeing this ridiculous lingerie and nothing else. Just keep right on.

He went to the cabinet he'd indicated earlier, reaching above her and extracting two large dinner plates. Kerri pulled forks, spoons and knives from the other drawer, waiting until he had the plates on the table before setting the silverware next to them.

"I think a nice red wine will go well with tonight's entrée, don't you princess?" Jack bent and reached into the cooler for a bottle, taking his eyes off her.

When he straightened and turned back around, Kerri had taken the large skillet in both hands. Screaming out her fear and hatred of him, she flung it's scalding contents full in his face with all her might. The searing hot oil, vegetables, beef and sauce hit home with devastating effect.

"Auuuuuuuuuugggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!! Jack's agonized wail echoed throughout the house as he fell, stunned to his knees, clawing at his burned skin. Then the double portion of red pepper flakes and bhut jolokia chilis she'd added began to work their poison on his already blistered face and eyes, cooking them even further.

Kerri dashed for the door, pausing for just a second to grab an object she'd spied resting beside it. She cradled it to her chest, protecting it like a football. Then she tore open the door and raced out into the night, bare feet hardly noticing the rough ground. He was down, but not out, not completely. Faster, much faster than she wanted him to be, he was back on his feet. He stumbled to the sink, bathing his abused tissues in the icy water from the faucet. Still moaning in agony, but recovered enough to pursue her, he did.

As Kerri fled, she checked to see if he was following. He was. Killing mad, he closed the gap between them. She ran faster.

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David was talking to Don Eppes, speaking loudly to be heard over the noise of the engine. "That's right, Don! Route 19, Mallen-Haltley cutoff. Better send fire-rescue too, thanks." Call completed, they could now concentrate on getting to Kerri Walton.

Like its four legged namesake, the Charger galloped down the asphalt of

route 19, giving every ounce of speed and power David Sinclair asked from it. It was as if the car sensed the urgent desperation of its occupants. David said nothing, concentrating on guiding the 6.1 liter SRT V8 around the twists and turns. He spared only the briefest of glances for Colby.

Granger's vision locked onto the road ahead, willing the car forward. He felt as if he had the capability to outrace the automobile and literally fly to Kerri's aid. His thoughts swirled around him. Jackson Lucern had Kerri? Alison Gerrard's brother? Colby had barely heard of him. He knew Lucern worked in the same office as Kerri from listening to Robin Brooks conversations with Don. He knew nobody liked the man, only tolerated him due to Roger Kendall, the boss D.A. Kendall, busy trying to get himself re-elected, fawned over the Lucern money shamelessly. Apparently, Lucern's legal skills were marginal at best. But Kerri, aside from an acid comment and an occasional grimace of dislike, rarely mentioned Jackson Lucern. Why hadn't she told him Jack Lucern was such danger to her? Why had she kept it from him? All questions to be answered later, after she was safe, and she'd better be. If Lucern hurt Kerri, in any way, Colby would end him. Tonight.

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No matter how fast and how hard she pushed herself, Kerri could hear Jack getting closer. Working out everyday, going running several times a week, Kerri tried to keep her body in good condition. She had the stamina of a professional athlete. Jack, however, was goaded by madness and pain.

"I'm going to kill you! Do you hear me?! You hear me?!! I'm gonna watch you die while I come inside you!! You hear me?!! You're dead!!"

Lungs burning, legs cramping with effort, Kerri decided to stop trying to outrun her tormentor. She understood she would not be able to, and, besides, she'd had it up to here with running from Jack. No more. Not one step further. Teeth bared, she ducked at a tangent into the thick woods lining the road. She made sure he saw her so he would follow. Taking cover behind the trunk of a thick oak, she waited. She could hear his heavy steps as he crashed thru the trees, bellowing rage and threats. With every inch she grew more calm. He'd almost reached her. She readied herself. He was at the tree. A foot appeared, then a leg and then all of him. When he was completely past her, Kerri raised the object she'd grabbed before fleeing the house. The legend read **LOUISVILLE SLUGGER. **In the days before Kerri began to notice boys and allowed her mother to talk her out of jeans and sneakers and into dresses, she'd wielded a mean bat. Many a coach discovered to his delight that the little girl with the raven-haired pigtails hit better than any boy on his team. Assuming her old home run stance, Kerri centered on the back of Jack Lucern's head and took a major league swing.

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Colby jumped from the car while it was still in motion, bursting into the cottage.

"Kerri! Kerri!!" he listened for an answer but heard nothing. He passed the empty kitchen, taking no note of the mess spread on the kitchen floor. "Kerri, where are you?! Kerri?! Baby, talk to me! Where are you?!"

Had the man on the phone lied? Colby and David cleared the entire house but found no one. The place was deserted. Sinclair saw a small garage standing twenty feet from the house. He checked and found a steel blue Toyota Land Cruiser but no sign of Kerri Walton or her abductor.

He rejoined a distressed Colby in front of the house.

"Where are they, David? Where could she be?" Chest heaving, Colby lasered in on the wooded area on either side of the road. "You take one side, I take the other." He started off at a run. David pulled him back. "Take this, you might need it." Sinclair was holding out his backup weapon. Colby accepted it with a grateful nod and took off. David headed in the opposite direction.

"Kerri? Kerri? Kerri?!" Years of moving in and out of country that might or might not hold someone harboring hostile intentions for him imbued Granger with an innate need for caution under such circumstances. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Kerri? Kerri, honey please, where are you? Please!" He moved over the leaf and weed choked ground lightly, making almost no sound. He grew more afraid with each step, terrified of what he might eventually find. For ten long minutes he searched, hearing nothing but Sinclair on the other side, Then, ahead of him, he heard footsteps. Raising his gun, he crept forward. It could be Kerri. It might be Jackson Lucern. If it was the latter, Colby would get Kerri's location out of the man, no matter what. Seeing who it was, his gun lowered to his side. Kerri. Weeping with relief, she dropped the bat she held (bat?) and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Oh, God! Colby!" She collapsed against him, still sobbing. All he could do was hold her. Seeing her alive and unharmed rendered him speechless. Thank you, God. Thank You.

He held her tightly for a moment longer, cherishing the feel of her. He didn't ever want to let her go, so, keeping her in the shelter of his arms, he asked, "Kerri, honey, where's Lucern? Where is he?"

" He's out cold about forty yards that way." She pointed back in the direction she'd come from. " I clocked him pretty good. Then I heard you calling me! Colby, I thought you were dead. I thought he killed you! He wouldn't tell me what happened to you. What he'd done. I was so afraid!" Burying her face in her hands, she started crying anew.

"It's ok, baby. It's over. Come on, let's get you out of here. David! We're over here!" His shout brought Sinclair on the run. Holstering his gun and retrieving his backup from Colby, David offered Kerri his jacket for cover. She took it from him gratefully, face flaming in embarrassment. Until that moment, what she was wearing had actually slipped her mind.

"David, can you take Kerri to the car? Stay with her, alright? I'm gonna go find Lucern."

"Maybe you oughta take this back." David indicated his backup weapon.

"No. I won't need it. Kerri put his lights out with this." Colby retrieved the bat. "Don't worry. I can handle him. Meet you back at the car."

Kerri kissed him, trembling with relief, completely spent. She hugged him. "Please, be careful. I thought I'd lost you tonight. I don't think I can take that again."

"I thought I'd lost you too. You stay with David. I'll be careful. Don't worry. I'll be fine." He watched them go.

"The happy couple. You make me want to vomit" Jack said. He'd been watching from the woods for some time, awake, battered, burned and dazed. Kerri's blow had taken him down, putting him out of the game long enough. By the time he was back in it, the two FBI agents were there. Seeing the object of Kerri Walton's affections gave him new energy, a fresh infusion of malice.

"So, the working class hero lives." Jack seethed with hatred and jealousy. "How hard are you to kill anyway loverboy?" he taunted.

"Why don't you come find out?" Colby asked, deceptively mild.

Jack pointed to the bat in Granger's hands. "Big man with the bat. Afraid to put it down?" Lucern sneered.

Colby tossed the bat to the ground. "Kerri already punked you with it. I don't need to."

"The whore's not even a good lay! She's probably spread 'em for every man in L.A.! You can have her, I'm done now!" Jack said, trying to provoke his opponent.

Colby laughed scornfully. "Huh! Robin Brooks was right about you! You're a piss poor attorney and you even suck as a liar. You never touched Kerri. She'd break a dick-less moron like you in half."

Jack snarled and charged the FBI agent, aiming for his rival's rib cage. Colby stepped nimbly aside, watching Lucern do a face plant into the mossy turf.

"Oops. Missed me Jackass. Like to try again?"

Jack's awkward landing put him next to the bat Colby'd thrown away. Seizing it, he made a wild one handed swing, catching Granger's ankles. His feet going out from under him, Colby landed heavily on his back.

Sensing Lucern's followup attack, he rolled lightning fast to one side, and just missed the deadly blow aimed at his head by Jack, who had regained his footing.

"You and that little slut both think you're better than me! That you can deny me what I want! Nobody denies me what I want!" He aimed another vicious swipe at his prone target.

With a speed Jack couldn't counter, Colby reacted. Grabbing and twisting the bat with both hands, he arched up, clamping his legs behind Lucern's neck. Rotating his body a quarter turn, his momentum forced the other man to follow. Jack slammed into the ground, stunned. Colby snatched the bat from his hands and threw it beyond the reach of either. Returning his attention to the man who'd caused Kerri so much pain, Colby aimed one punishing blow after another at his foe.

Kerri sat sideways in the back seat of the Charger, its door open staring into the dense undergrowth. Gathering David's jacket about her, she rocked back and forth, silently willing Colby to come back to her. An eternity passed. Clinching her eyes shut, she felt David's hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see him smiling. He motioned into the distance with his head. Coming out of the trees, dragging Jack Lucern by his tied together heels, Colby dropped the beaten man at her feet. The faint bay of sirens indicated Don and fire rescue were about to be on scene. David put Lucern in cuffs, propping him up against the rear bumper with contempt.

Granger knelt next to Kerri. She leaned forward, resting her head on his chest. Kissing the top of her head, he buried his face in her hair, speaking softly. "Told you I'd be fine, didn't I?" She could feel his smile.

The arriving paramedics took one look at the bruised, boiled lobster complexion of Jackson Lucern and went to work, more than slightly upset at the refusal of the FBI agents to remove the prisoner's restraints. Grumbling, they made ready to load their patient into the ambulance. Lucern revived enough to see Kerri Walton and Colby Granger holding each other.

" Hey, loverboy!" he called, "you know your little slut girlfriend has a secret! Want me to tell you what it is?!"

"Shut up Lucern. Nobody cares what you have to say." David told him caustically. "Get him out of here" he told the medics. Lucern departed, Don and a county deputy in the ambulance.

Colby watched the big vehicle recede. Lucern, he thought, couldn't do anymore damage. He'd promised Kerri it was over. He had no way of knowing that promise wasn't quite his to keep.

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	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: Well, finally, huh? The end is near, so this is the last time I'll have to say this, but…don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the characters. OC's remain mine. Let's finish this.**

_**ONE WEEK AFTER THE COTTAGE…**_

Tie game, seven all. The situation looked serious for Don Eppes and his FBI agents. They were pitted against a team of federal prosecutors, and the lawyers had gotten lucky, knotting it up in the top of the seventh. Two on, two out. Ordinarily, that wouldn't have been a source of worry for Don, player-manager of the team. The agents could expect a squib grounder to second or third, and a quick easy out.

Not so this time. Batter at the plate was Kerri Walton. To Don's dismay and Colby Granger's well concealed pride, Kerri bore responsibility for three of the legal eagle's seven runs all by her own self. Her petite, shapely frame hid a deadly accurate sense of timing when it came to connecting with a softball. Walton had one homer with a runner on, and her third RBI came as the result of a fifth inning double. Not only that, Don knew the FBI's pitcher was tired.

Should have taken him out last inning, but the team was shorthanded. Both his relief pitchers were pulled away on a case at the last minute. Bob Jennings would just have to hang in there and get that one last out. He saw Jennings peer in for the sign, nod and begin the pitch.

Inhabiting his usual second base, Colby easily kept his eye on the batter. Ready in a fielder's crouch, he blew a kiss to Kerri. As planned, she was distracted enough to be staring at him and not the ball. She colored as it whizzed by.

"Strike one!" the home plate umpire bawled. Kerri threw a frown in Colby's direction. He grinned.

Two more strikes, Don thought. Just a couple more, Bob. Come on, you can do it. The pitcher shook off the sign, nodded at the second. First came the wind up, then the pitch…

_WHACK!!! _Don winced at the all too familiar sound. He didn't even have to look. The ball sailed over Granger's head well into center field. Even with Nikki Bentancourt's commendable hustle, first one then a second run crossed the plate. The next batter produced the squibby grounder, but the damage was done.

Running into the dugout from first base , preparing for their turn at bat, David sought out Colby. "Would you please stop doing that?!"

"Stop doing what?" Colby replied, doing his best to look innocent.

"Blowing kisses at her when she comes up to bat. Every time you do that she gets another hit! Your love jones is killing us! Knock it off!"

Colby busted out laughing.

Don should have been first up, but had to call time as he got a call. He answered, and after a few minutes of muffled conversation motioned to Colby.

"Work?" Granger asked his boss.

"Not exactly" Don replied, "but work related, and you're not going to like it. Neither is Kerri."

"What is it" Colby asked him cautiously.

"Jackson Lucern. Federal lockup's disagreeing with him. He's looking to play let's make a deal, and I think Roger Kendall's going to accommodate him. The man has to do something to repair his public image. Make up for all the brown nosing he did before the Lucern's and Sahar were busted.

"Deal?! Deal how? And with what?! What could he possibly have that he thinks will get him out from under the kind of charges he's up against?!" Colby became aware he was shouting. "Sorry, Don, I…" he ran out of words and took it out on his glove, hurling it into a corner of the dugout.

Robin Brooks came running over from the opposing team's dugout. "Are we still playing or not, Eppes?" she prodded jokingly. Seeing the disgusted look on Don's face and Colby's alight with anger, her gin faded fast.

"What?" Don told her. David came close to listen, and Robin waited until Kerri could be included in the conversation. Don explained more fully.

"Jack Lucern has been hiding an ace up his sleeve. Seems that, uh, the Taliban and Al Qaeda weren't Sahar's only customers for those little nasties Dr. Gerrard whipped up. Lucern claims there are others, and he knows who they are. He wants to deal the id's for reduced charges, maybe a lighter sentence, who knows. Thing is…" he looked at Colby, "he says he'll only talk to you. He specifically requested, no, demanded you."

"Why me?" Colby queried, still furious.

"Who knows why this character does anything, Colby. But those are his 'conditions.' He turned to Robin. "Why don't we just call this one. You guys win."

Brooks indicated her agreement and went to give her team the news.

Colby went to Kerri, pale and disbelieving at the news.

"Don't worry. No way is he walking away from what he did." He tried to reassure her.

"This is like some kind of bizarre nightmare that I can't wake up from." Weariness made her take a seat on the dugout bench. She knew full well why Jackson Lucern insisted he would speak only to Colby Granger. Jack planned to tell Colby what she herself should have told the man she loved weeks ago. She couldn't live like this any longer, with the knowledge of it hovering in the corners of her life like some kind of malevolent shadow. Colby needed to know, he deserved to know. Not from Jack, but from her.

"You and I need to talk. Before you go see Jack. It's important" She could see the worried bafflement in his eyes.

"Ok, let's talk. Whatever it is, you know you can tell me." Colby felt the need to shield her. That demon was back.

"Not here. Can you meet me at my place in about an hour?" She gave him a tremulous smile.

"Yes, of course. I'll be there. Kerri, I promise, whatever it is, I'm not going anywhere. What kind of knight in shining armor would I be if I ran away at the first sign of trouble, huh?" He kissed her. "One hour."

They temporarily went their separate ways.

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The hollow clamor of the federal detention center filled Jackson Lucern's days and nights. It's constant, irritating buzz permeated the walls, floors and ceiling of the place. Housed in 'protective segregation' Jack found the ceaseless babble annoying. In fact, one of the most annoying aspects of his present circumstances.

No chance of a second bail hearing. A double count each of kidnapping and aggravated assault, one of attempted murder, and criminal confinement, all being committed when he was already out on bail… "Charlie Mason'll get bail before I will" Jack snorted bitterly. Nope, this was home for the foreseeable future, no matter how good his 'dream team' proved to be, or how good a deal he could wring out of that slug Kendall.

And why? Because of Walton and Granger, panting and slobbering all over each other like mongrels in rut. He still didn't get it. Why would she choose anyone else when she could have had him? I could've given her everything she could ever want, Jack simmered, and the only payment would've been her body for as long as I desired. A cheap enough commodity, so why would the little slut value it so much? He shook his head uncomprehendingly.

It made no difference now, at least not right now. She'd had her chance. Jacks' agenda for tonight had only one item on it. His upcoming conversation with FBI Special Agent Colby Granger. Jack looked out of the narrow window of his cell, anticipating the exchange highly. Kerri Walton would regret spurning him. After my little chat with Granger, a lot of people are going to regret not treating me with more respect.

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Kerri paced the floor of her apartment, chills overtaking her although the early evening temperature hovered in the high seventies. Splashing cold water on her face from the bathroom sink, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Great. Eyes red-rimmed from weeping. Face blotchy, nose running. If this kept up, she might not have to tell Colby anything. He'd take one look at her and bolt for the hills. But she couldn't stop the tears. She loved him, and, though he'd not spoken the words, she was pretty sure he felt the same way about her. She'd never hear those words now. Not once they talked. At the ballpark, Colby'd sworn nothing could ever make him leave her, but he was wrong. A knock on the door made her jump.

"Kerri? It's me honey." Colby. She went to answer it, feeling as if her life were ending.

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The other thing that bothered Jack the most about being locked up was the complete lack of privacy. As a 'special risk' prisoner, his cell was continually monitored. The camera mounted in one corner, protected by a clear laminate casing covered every inch of his abbreviated space. He couldn't even relive himself without an audience, he reflected morosely. In addition to that, the guards did frequent visual checks, allegedly for his benefit. "Suicide watch" they maintained. Sure, right. He'd taken to ignoring them, refusing to look up whenever they showed, peering in as if expecting to find him gone. Stupid, Jack jeered silently. Where do they think I'm gonna go? He checked the digital clock built into the wall. Almost time for another meddlesome intrusion by his keepers. Parking himself on his bunk, he picked up a magazine he'd already read three times. They could treat him like a zoo exhibit, he couldn't stop it, but he would not give them the satisfaction of letting them know how much it irritated him. Right on cue, he heard approaching footsteps. He put his head down and pretended to read. The steps slowed, then halted in front of his door. Jackson's calculated indifference went away as the door unexpectedly opened. None of his lawyers were scheduled for a visit, and they would have called first anyway. Raising his head to see who it was, at first he was pleased, thinking the visitor meant freedom. Then he saw the eyes. That's when he understood that his freedom would take a much different form than he'd hoped for.

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"Kerri!" Colby's concern increased upon seeing the signs of her upset. "Baby what is it? Please tell me what's wrong! Please let me help. When I told you earlier that there's nothing you could tell me that will scare me away, I meant that. Look, maybe there's something I should tell you first." He gently shushed her attempts to speak. "I should've said something a long time ago. Guess I've just been working up the nerve, but Kerri, I love you. I'm _in_ love with you. I've known for a long time, and I want you to know, too." He folded her, weakly resisting, into his arms. "I'll have you to understand, Ms. Walton, that when we Granger men fall in love, we don't do it half way. I'm all in. That means you're stuck with me. Me Tarzan, you Jane."

Instead of helping, his pronouncement of love seemed to make things worse. Pulling away, she started to cry again. He tried to comfort her but she shook him off. "Please, please don't. I love you too, so much. I really need to tell you this and I won't be able to say it if I'm that close to you." She couldn't put it off anymore. This was it. She started to utter the words she'd always hoped in her heart she would never have to say.

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Paying up graciously as the captain of the losing team, Don Eppes wound his way thru the tightly grouped tables of the Foamin' Fool, a tall glass of beer in each hand. Buying a round for Robin's team was getting off light. At least for now. Rock solid certain the lovely Ms. Brooks would give him no end of grief about the game, Don figured if he played his cards right, maybe he could salvage something besides a ribbing out of the evening.

"Um, little slow coming back with my victorious refreshment aren't you, Agent Eppes? But then, you and your guys have been a little slow since this afternoon. Slow in the field, slow at the plate." Her best Cheshire cat smile waited on him. He saw Sinclair wince in sympathy and shrugged. She was just getting started.

"Just drink, huh. You haven't by any chance ever heard of being a gracious _winner_?"

Batting her eyes outrageously, Robin simpered, "Aw, does the big strong FBI agent need a hug?"

"Look, woman…" Don began. His never turned off phone sounded.

Robin gloated. "Saved by the bell!"

Finger in one ear to block out the noise of the bar, Don flipped the phone open. "Don Eppes. Yes, that's right."

The others could only hear Don's end of the conversation but they could all see the effect it had on him.

"What!!!? How long ago!?... What happened!?... I thought he was being constantly monitored!... No, you know what, just keep the area clear! Get everybody out of there! We're on the way!" Ending the call, Don tossed the phone onto the table, too angry even to curse.

"Don, what happened?" Robin asked. David, Nikki were listening too.

"Guards at the MDC found Jackson Lucern dead in his cell about twenty minutes ago. They have no idea what happened."

"He was on twenty four hour watch, constant monitoring!" David exploded.

"Yeah, I know" Don said. "Come on, let's go. Call Colby. Have him meet us there. Sorry, honey" he apologized to Robin.

"Sorry, nothing. I'm going with." Brooks and the rest of her fellow ADA's trailed Don's team.

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Driving away from the Metropolitan Detention Center, Clarence kept one hand on the wheel as he began unbuttoning the shirt of his purloined guard's uniform. His new employers didn't much care for the idea of Lucern having a confab with the Bureau. They would be pleased with the results of tonight's work. He certainly was. The world was a better place without Jack Lucern in it. Some days, he reflected, his job did have its perks. He sighed. Time to become someone else, again. Too bad. Although it was many identities removed from the name he was born with, in a lot of ways, he'd miss being Clarence.

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Five miles away, Kerri Walton's phone rang. It went unanswered.

Unable to watch his face while she told him, Kerri went to stand in front of a large casement window overlooking the street.

"You remember me telling you about my parents, right?" she asked.

"Of course I do. Your mom's the retired school teacher and your dad's the retired cop. I'm still sorry our trip to see 'em got aced out by you and Robin getting sent to Denver. At least I think I am." Colby's attempt to lighten the mood didn't work. He could tell from her body language that Kerri was still very distressed.

"When I told you about my folks, I kind of left something out. Something you have to know. Something I should have told you long before now. Resting her head on the pane of glass, she continued. "Steven Walton, my, my dad, he…he's actually my stepdad. Don't misunderstand me. He's the best father in the world. He treats my mother like a queen, and he's always loved me like I was his. He's a fine man, a good man. I'm very proud and happy to be his daughter. He married my mother and adopted me when I was two. My…my, my biological father was a man my mother met when she was a freshman in college. He was charming, good looking. She was a small town girl. He swept off her feet. A true whirlwind romance. At first, she said he seemed like the perfect guy. But then, after a few months, things started to change. He got…possessive, aggressively so. He started following her, showing up in her classes. Trying to control who she could see, spend time with. What she wore, even what she ate. He started to really frighten her, so she tried to distance herself from him. She broke off their relationship. He didn't take it well. She finally had to literally run way from him. Quit school, practically go underground. She never told him she was pregnant with me. My birth certificates says 'father unknown'. She was so relieved when he never found her" Kerri took a long, shuddering breath.

"I've known Steven Walton was my stepdad since I was a very little girl, but it never made any difference to either of us. I mean, you should meet him, Colby. He's the greatest. There's nothing he wouldn't do for me. Not once did I give any thought to looking for my biological father. I wasn't curious about him at all. Then, when I was eighteen, my senior class went on a trip. I was so excited. I was so naive. I never saw it coming. He was working at one of the places we toured. Apparently, at eighteen, I looked exactly like my mom did at that age. He knew who I was right away. Eventually, he made contact. He also made sure to tell me to keep it from my mother. Said she wouldn't understand, that she would try to keep us from getting to know each other and that we, he and I deserved to have a relationship. I was so stupid. Such a teenager. I told myself I was eighteen. A woman now, so I could make my own decisions, right?" Kerri's voice was soft, choked with regret.

"Over the next few months, he called or wrote. After I went off to college, that made it easier to keep it from my parents. At first, I thought it was great. It felt like I had this tremendously exciting secret. He made it seem like the two of us against the world, you know?" She huffed bitterly. "That didn't last. He started showing up around campus, outside the buildings where I had my classes, when I was out with my friends, even watching my dorm. Then I started getting these notes, suggesting what I should wear, that maybe some of my friends were people I shouldn't be spending time with. I guess the breaking point came when I found out my phone was bugged. I asked him point blank if he was responsible, and he actually admitted to my face that he was. After that I told him to stay away from me. That I didn't want to see or talk to him again. I knew my mother was right about him. I threatened to go to the police, the courts. He backed off. Left me alone. I don't think he wanted any part of being investigated by the authorites. I got the impression his life couldn't take the scrutiny. A few years later I found out why." She stopped, giving Colby an inscrutable look.

"It was all over the news, for weeks, filled with lots of ugly words like espionage and treason. I cringed every time I saw his face on the TV or in the newspapers. And held my breath that no one would ever make the connection. My god, Colby, the damage he did, to so many people, to...to you." This time her eyes were filled with a peculiar type of muted pain.

Colby straightened, a numbness gripping him as the significance of what she was saying became clear.

"His name was Lancer, Colby. Mason Lancer"

**THE END **

**Author's note: So that's the big tada. Where do Colby and Kerri go from here? Haven't decided yet. Think I'll take a little writing time off and think about it. Later, gators. **


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